before he took to the air for a living?" asked Frank.

"You're right, he did that same thing, but somehow it seemed to have
slipped my mind. But you never forget a single thing, do you, Frank? And
if he used to be an actor, why, of course Casper would find it easy to
play this part. Perhaps he's just enjoying it the best you ever heard
of. Some people are never happy unless they're hoodwinking others."

"Let's go back and find Sallie, and get to talking about butterflies and
gypsy moths, and all sorts of things in that line we can think of,"
suggested Frank. "Then she'll believe we're head over ears interested in
what her boarder is doing, and if I give her a little hint she may ask
us to step in and take a peek at his room. Of course we mightn't pick up
anything worth while there; and then again there's always a little
chance we could."

"It's worth while, I think," declared Andy, who seldom disagreed with
any proposition his cousin advanced, simply because Frank was usually so
wise that he succeeded in covering the whole ground the very first
thing.

So they once more left the porch, though both boys looked down the lane
before going in, to make sure that the queer little butterfly collector
was not coming in time to interfere with their immediate plans.

Sallie was just tidying up the diningroom when they found her. The good
woman of the house seemed to have gone into the kitchen, where she was
preserving some sort of fruit, or making catsup, to judge from the
fragrant odors that came floating out from that part of the farmhouse.

Naturally Sallie was only too willing to enter into conversation again
with two such attractive looking and bright boys as Frank and Andy Bird.
She must have been aware of the fact that they were favorites among the
girls of Bloomsbury; and of course also knew something about their being
aviators, although both or 'them had shunned that subject carefully
while at the dinner table.

And so Frank managed to gradually steer the conversation around to the
subject of bug collection. He told of a friend he once had who was
"daffy" along that line, and would rather capture some queer looking old
night-flying hairy moth, with a death's-head sign on his front, than
enjoy the finest supper, or listen to the best play.

That allowed Andy to venture the suggestion that he had taken
considerable interest in butterflies himself, and always wanted to see a
collection that was worth while. Of cours