Jack, so Tom said, seemed to think it was a sort of celebration because of the event, for his face was wreathed in a perpetual smile.

“The sort of smile,” Jack retorted, “that won’t come off.”

“Oh, how good I do feel!” was a remark that if he made it once he did a dozen times, always finding it greeted by answering nods on the part of his two companions.

Of course they told the farmer they were aviators who had had the misfortune to drop into the marsh, where he would find their plane.

Beverly hired him to dismantle this in part, and store it away in his shed until later on it could be called for in person.  He was not to deliver it to any person without the presence of one of the trio.

When he started out to drive them in his old rickety vehicle to the nearest railroad station, miles distant, he was almost stricken dumb because Beverly, in the fulness of his gratitude over their marvelous escape, thrust a full hundred dollars upon him, with a promise of a like amount later on for looking after the abandoned bombing plane.

“To-day is marked with a white stone in the life of Farmer Jenkins, believe me,” Jack whispered aside to Tom, as they saw the amazed look spreading over the man’s weather-beaten face.

“It’s that with all of us,” said Tom soberly.

Jack fell silent after that.  He was engrossed with thoughts connected with his unexpected return to the home of his childhood; and in imagination could see the excitement their unheralded appearance was certain to arouse.

It had been arranged between them that their presence must be kept as much a secret as possible.  On this account they would delay their arrival at the home of Jack’s mother until after darkness had set in.

“To-morrow,” Jack had said, when these things were being discussed, “we’ll telegraph to Mr. Smedley in Richmond to come on without delay in connection with my dead uncle’s estate, ready to settle it according to the provisions of his queer will.  Then we’ll be ready for Randolph when he bobs up.”

Beverly had also made a suggestion when they were thus talking it all over, and arranging plans after their usual way.

“Now I’ve got a good friend who lives on Staten Island, right in New York harbor,” he informed them.  “Often while at his house visiting I’ve amused myself with a glass watching steamers pass through the Narrows lying between the shore of the island and that part of Brooklyn opposite Fort Wadsworth.  I’ll wire him to let me know by the same means when La Bretagne reaches Quarantine in the harbor.”

“A clever idea, Colin!” Tom cried.  “In that way we can figure out just when Jack’s cousin might expect to arrive in Bridgeton to claim the estate as being the first one on the ground, thanks to that silly provision of the old man’s will.”

“Given two hours to get off the vessel, after the time she reaches Quarantine,” Jack figured, “and six more to get to Richmond makes eight in all.  Then he might be two hours getting out to Bridgeton, for trains are not very plentiful.  He could make it in that time if he took a roadster with a chauffeur and came that way.  Ten hours in all.”