Fer-De-Lance

The place in Westchester was the Barstow family estate, but the family was able to be there less than three months of the year since it was necessary to live at the university from September to June. They came each summer for ten or eleven weeks with the servants, and closed the place up each fall on leaving. They knew many people in the surrounding countryside; her father’s circle of acquaintance had of course been wide not only in Westchester, and some of his best and oldest friends lived within easy driving distance from the estate. She gave the names of these and I took them down. I also listed the names of the servants and details regarding them. I was doing that when Miss Barstow suddenly got up from the bench and moved away to the path in the sunshine, from under the shelter of the trees that shaded us. There was the sound of an airplane overhead, so close that it had forced us to raise our voices. I went on writing, "-Finnish, 6 yrs, NY agcy, sgl," and then looked at her.

Her head was way back showing all her throat, with her gaze straight above, and one arm was up waving a handkerchief back and forth. I jumped out from under the trees and cocked an eye at the airplane. It was right over us, down low, and two arms could be seen extended, one from one side and one from the other, waving back at her. The plane dipped a little, then swung around and headed back, and soon was out of sight behind the trees. She went back to the bench and I joined her; she was saying: "That was my brother. This is the first time he has been up since my father-"

"He must be pretty reckless, and he certainly has long arms.

"He doesn’t fly; at least, not solo. That was Manuel Kimball with him, it’s Mr. Kimball’s plane."

"Oh. One of the foursome."

"Yes."