he child with them.

While they were gone on their errand of helpfulness Roy and Jimsy were
seated on the porch of the hotel watching, with more or less languid
interest, the inhabitants of the town passing back and forth. Many of
them lingered in front of the hotel, for aviators were not common
objects in that part of the country, and already the party had become
local celebrities.

"I guess we'll go inside," said Roy, at length, "I'm getting sick
of being looked at as if I was some sort of natural curiosity."

"Same here," rejoined Jimsy, "we'll go in and I'll play you a game
of checkers."

"You're on," was the response.

But as the boys rose to go, or rather the instant before they left their
seats, there came a heavy step behind Roy and a gruff voice snarled:

"What are you doing in that chair?"

"Sitting in it," responded Roy, in not too pleasant a voice. The tone in
which he had been addressed had aroused a hot resentment in him toward
the speaker.

Turning he saw the same red-faced man whom he had been unfortunate
enough to knock down.

Instantly his manner changed. He felt genuinely sorry for the accident
and hastened to explain that such was the case. But a glowering glance
was the only response he received. "You done it a-purpose. Don't tell
me," snarled the red-faced individual, "an' now you git right out uv
that chair or--or I'll make you!"

Both boys stared at the man in amazement. His tone was coarse and
bullying to a degree.

"We are not occupying these chairs to your inconvenience," declared
Roy stoutly, "there are lots of others."

He indicated several rockers placed at intervals along the hotel porch,
and all empty.

"That chair you're sitting in is mine," snapped the man, in response.

"Got a mortgage on it, eh?" smiled Jimsy amiably.

"I'll show you kids how much of a mortgage I've got on it," was the
reply.

It was just then that a lad of about Roy's own age, but with a surly,
hang-dog sort of look, emerged from the smoking-room of the hotel.

"What's up, father?" he demanded, addressing the red-faced man.

"Why, Dan, the kids have appropriated my chair."

"Oh, those flying kids. Well, they'll see that they ain't everything
around here," responded the lad; "I reckon Jim Cassell has some say
here, eh, dad?"

"I reckon so, son," grinned the red-faced man, in response to this
elegant speech; "now, then, are you going to give up that chair or not?"

"I was just leaving it whe