"All right. I'll mix the paint the first thing in the morning."
It took two days to paint the machine, for much care had to be used, and, when it was finished Tom looked admiringly up at it.
"We ought to name it," suggested Mr. Sharp, as he removed a bit of paint from the end of the nose.
"To be sure," agreed Tom. "And—hold on, I have the very name for it—Red Cloud!"
"Red Cloud?" questioned Mr. Sharp.
"Yes!" exclaimed Tom, with enthusiasm. "It's painted red—at least the big, aluminum gas container is—and we hope to go above the clouds in it. Why not Red Cloud?"
"That's what it shall be!" conceded the balloonist. "If I had a bottle of malted milk, or something like that, I'd christen it."
"We ought to have a young lady to do that part," suggested Tom. "They always have young ladies to name ships."
"Were you thinking of any particular young lady?" asked Mr. Sharp softly, and Tom blushed as he replied:
"Oh no—of course that is—well—Oh, hang it, christen it yourself, and let me alone," he finished.
"Well, in the absence of Miss Mary Nestor, who, I think, would be the best one for the cere-
