Roland returned. The negotiations with the bird-man had lasted a little longer than one would have expected. But then, of course, M. Feriaud was a foreigner, and Roland's French was not fluent.     

       He took Muriel's hand.     

       “Good-by,” he said.     

       He shook hands with the rest of the party, even with Albert Potter. It struck Frank that he was making too much fuss over a trifle—and, worse, delaying the start of the proceedings.     

       “What's it all about?” he demanded. “You go on as if we were never going to see you again.”      

       “You never know.”      

       “It's as safe as being in bed.”      

       “But still, in case we never meet again——”      

       “Oh, well,” said Brother Frank, and took the outstretched hand.     

       The little party stood and watched as the aeroplane moved swiftly along the ground, rose, and soared into the air. Higher and higher it rose, till the features of the two occupants were almost invisible.     

       “Now,” said Brother Frank. “Now watch. Now he's going to loop the loop.”      

       But the wheels of the aeroplane still pointed to the ground. It grew smaller and smaller. It was a mere speck.     

       “What the dickens?”      

       Far away to the West something showed up against the blue of the sky—something that might have been a bird, a toy kite, or an aeroplane traveling rapidly into the sunset.     

       Four pairs of eyes followed it in rapt silence.     

  

       THE EPISODE OF THE FINANCIAL NAPOLEON     

       Second of a Series of Six Stories [First published in Pictorial Review, June 1916]     

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