“That is my card,” he replied, advancing.  “I want a strong, swift biplane, and a mechanic to attend to it.”

I glanced from the card to this extraordinary young man with interest.  For the name itself, John Hamlin Power, told me of a career in Wall Street—­brief, but conspicuous in its daring and success; a career in which this immaculate, smiling young cotillion leader had made the very monarchs of finance fear the elan of his attack, the relentless quality of his grip.

“I have taken a fancy,” he went on, “to possess the identical machine with which you accomplished your recent Mount McKinley record.  It is perhaps for sale?”

“Perfectly, if monsieur wishes,” I responded, with another bow.  “But it is a machine of unusual speed and power.  Monsieur can already fly, no doubt?”

“I do not anticipate any difficulty.  As a matter of fact, I have not yet attempted it.  It is for that purpose that I have come to buy a machine.  It would be a favor if you would arrange to deliver it to me in Westchester to-morrow.  The mechanic will, of course, arrive at the same time, as I shall wish to commence practice at once.”

He turned aside to inspect a motor that lay dismounted on a wooden stand, as if there were nothing further to discuss.  Indeed, though his speech was rapid and incisive, and his every movement full of an allure that spoke of splendidly poised muscles, he was in face and manner alike the most singularly immobile man I had ever met.  He gave the impression of employing neither words nor actions except in case of clear necessity.

I exchanged glances with Georges, who had turned up his eyes, spread his arms, and allowed them to fall again limply to his sides.  I coughed.  Monsieur Power drew himself up from his inspection of the motor and smiled again expectantly.

“But the question of tuition?” I stammered.  “Monsieur has no doubt arranged for the services of an instructor?”

There was the slightest twinkle in that steadfast gaze of his.  He had the bravest, and yet the tenderest, eyes in the world.

“I’m afraid I have not sufficient time for the regular course,” he said.  “I am a rather busy man, as you possibly know.  I have consequently taken lessons in advance, by mail.  May I expect the machine to-morrow as arranged?”

I murmured something to the effect that he had perhaps underestimated the difficulties of aviation.

“Are they not exaggerated?” he inquired.  “You taught my friend, Miss Hamilton Warren, to fly, did you not?”

“Mademoiselle, it is true, flies here almost daily,” I admitted.

“Just so!  It does not seem to me that there can be anything very difficult in what a girl can do.  However, if you will be so good as to deliver the biplane we will see.”

Under that clear, steady gaze of his I was powerless to protest.  Behind him I could see the good Georges struggling palpably for breath, and waving his hands to the rafters.  I contented myself with a profound bow; whereupon, with the same quick, alert movement with which he had appeared, this strange young man departed.  Georges and I fell gasping upon each others’ necks, and stared together after his tall, receding figure.