French. Maybe shall bicycle thru France. Mem.:
Write to Colonel Haviland when I can.

_Must_ when I can.

Part III

THE ADVENTURE OF LOVE

CHAPTER XXIV

In October, 1912, a young man came with an enthusiastic letter from
the president of the Aero Club to old Stephen VanZile, vice-president
and general manager of the VanZile Motor Corporation of New York. The
young man was quiet, self-possessed, an expert in regard to motors,
used to meeting prominent men. He was immediately set to work at a
tentative salary of $2,500 a year, to develop the plans of what he
called the "Touricar"--an automobile with all camping accessories,
which should enable motorists to travel independent of inns, add the
joy of camping to the joy of touring, and--a feature of nearly all
inventions--add money to the purse of the inventor.

The young man was Carl Ericson, whom Mr. VanZile had seen fly at New
Orleans during the preceding February. Carl had got the idea of the
Touricar while wandering by motor-cycle through Scandinavia and
Russia.

He was, at this time, twenty-seven years old; not at all remarkable in
appearance nor to be considered handsome, but so clean, so well
bathed, so well set-up and evenly tanned, that one thought of the
swimming, dancing, tennis-playing city men of good summer resorts, an
impression enhanced by his sleek corn-silk hair and small, pale
mustache. His clothes came from London, his watch-chain was a thin
line of platinum and gold, his cigarette-case of silver engraved in
inconspicuous bands--a modest and sophisticated cigarette-case, which
he had possessed long enough to forget that he had it. He was
apparently too much the easy, well-bred, rather inexperienced Yale or
Princeton man (not Harvard; there was a tiny twang in his voice, and
he sometimes murmured "Gee!") to know much about life or work, as
yet, and his smooth, rosy cheeks made it absurdly evident that he had
not been away from the college insulation for more than two years.

But when he got to work with draftsman and stenographers, when a curt
kindliness filled his voice, he proved to be concentrated, unafraid of
responsibility, able to keep many people busy; trained to something
besides family tradition and the collegians' naive belief that it
matters who wins the Next Game.

His hands would have given away the fact that he had done things. They
were large, broad; the knuckles heavy; the palms calloused by
something rougher th