his fellows of the flying fields by the shorter name of “Perk.”

At his side stalked his bosom pal, Jack Ralston, in whose company latterly the said Perk had participated in a number of thrilling flying stunts, all of which have been narrated in the earlier books of this series of aviation stories.

Those who have enjoyed a previous recital of their adventures in the precarious vocation they followed, as policemen of the skies, need no further introduction to the pair of cronies. For the benefit of new readers, less fortunate, it may be said right here, before embarking on the latest and most thrilling of their recent exploits, that Jack and Perk were trusted members of Uncle Sam’s wide-flung Secret Service organization; and on account of their clever and conscientious work, often entrusted with some of the most dangerous and difficult missions engaging the attention of the high “muck-a-muck” (Perk’s definition) authorities at Washington Headquarters.

“What puts you in the dumps so, Perk?” Jack was asking, after noticing for the tenth time what a frown had settled on his chum’s usually smiling phiz. “Dinner knocking harder than customary; or did you get a letter from your best girl, breaking off the engagement? Strikes me you’re fast becoming a chronic crêpe-hanger these days.”

“That’s all hot air—boloney I’d call it, as yeou know right well, Jack!” Perk flung back. “Chow was all to the good—ain’t got nary a best gal, an’ never did have, neither—they’re all rank pizen to me. Guess again, Mister.”

“Then what does ail you, boy—something gone wrong with your plans—can I do anything to ease the strain? I’d go a long way to get you out of that black look, partner; you’re worrying me a heap I allow.”

The other stopped short on Main Street’s pavement, and looked his companion straight in the face, actually smiling a bit in the bargain.

“Yeou would do jest that, ole pal, wouldn’t yeou? I know I’m a tarnel fool to get stewed like this,” he burst out; “an’ orter be ashamed—I’m meanin’ to kick outen it right away. Fact is, it’s the same ole story, Jack—I’m gettin’ fed up by things goin’ too smooth. Guess it’s in the blood—my Yankee ancestors they was all men o’ action, doers o’ things that called fur courage an’ double risk. They set their seal on me, seems like; fur ever since I was a kid I’ve been on the hunt fur adventure by land an’ sea; yeah, an’ o’ late years, in the air besides. That’s all I gotter say; but blood’ll tell ev’ry time.”

“Well,” remarked Jack, looking much relieved it could be seen. “I more than half suspected this, Perk; but cheer up—the longest lane must have its turning. Meanwhile we’re getting our regular pay from our Uncle Samuel, remember!”

“But not earnin’ a red cent, jest the same, which is what upsets me most,” continued the complaining one. “Makes me feel like I’m sorter pensioned off, an’ ain’t worth the snap o’ my fingers to the Service. Huh!”

“Nonsense, boy, that’s a silly way of looking at things. We’re just resting up after that difficult job we pulled off, with the help of the Mounted Police, far away up in Northwest Canada.^[1] That successful flight, and arrest, earned us a vacation, our superiors believe; which I for one have enjoyed immensely. Now I’m feeling fine, and fit for the next commission the Big Boss decides to hand out to us.”

“Hot-diggetty-dig! then I sure hopes it drifts this way right quick,” Perk eagerly observed. “I kinder guess them racketeers an’ their crowd o’ bootleggers must a got things mighty near sewed up, when