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until we get further along with our plans," I start out.
    "Certainly." He nods assent.
    "A group of men here in St. Louis are thinking of buying a plane for the New York-to-Paris flight," I say. "We've been considering a Fokker. We'd like to have any information you can give us."
    "What kind of information do you want?"
    He's looking at me intently now. I mustn't show the slightest uncertainty.
    "Well, we'd like to know whether you can build a plane that can carry enough fuel to make that flight. We'd like to know how much it would cost, and how soon it could be delivered."
    "I can answer all of those questions," the salesman tells me, in a tone which implies courtesy without enthusiasm. "The Fokker Company happens to have made a study of a flight from New York to Paris. Mr. Fokker can design a plane with enough range to reach Paris with a good reserve of fuel. The company can, deliver it by next spring, if the order is placed now. It would cost about $90,000."
    I try to keep my face as expressionless as his, but my mind whirls. Ninety thousand dollars! That's hopeless. I can never raise such an amount. I haven't even thought in such figures.
    "Of course," he goes on, fastening his eyes on mine again, "the Fokker Company would have to be satisfied with the competency of operating personnel before they would be willing to sell a plane for such a flight."
    I pass over the last statement, as though it didn't apply to me.
    "That's much more than we planned on," I say. "I didn't know Fokkers cost that much. The figure I heard quoted was ---"
    The salesman doesn't wait for me to finish, "Oh, our standard trimotors are much less. A plane for long range would have to be specially built, you see. It would need a larger wing, and extra tanks in the fuselage. The landing gear would have to be beefed up. It would be a different airplane entirely." He speaks with even voice and measured words. He knows he has something to sell, and he's not going to strike an easy bargain. "The Fokker Company's reputation would be at stake," he adds. "You should plan on over $100,000 for such a project. In fact, you should have almost unlimited financial backing."
    I pause for a moment. He's probably sounding me out, trying to bracket the figures he can work with. Maybe if I do a little sparring – – – "We've also considered using a single-engined plane," I tell him "How much would it cost to build a single-engined Fokker with enough range for – – –"
    The salesman breaks in again. "Our Company would not be interested in selling a single-engined plane for a flight across the ocean," he says definitely.
    I feel embarrassed, as though I were an adolescent boy broaching an ill-considered venture to a tolerant but disapproving parent. But I think he's wrong about multiengines in this case. Anyway, I'm not going to give up yet.
    "We thought a single-engined plane might be just as safe as one with three engines when it's heavily overloaded. [What am I talking about—"we"? I'm the only one who believes that.] If one engine stopped on a Fokker, how far could you go on the other two?"
    "There would be dump valves on the fuel tanks, of course," he answers. "If an engine stopped, you would simply dump enough fuel to keep flying on the other two. That's why Mr. Fokker believes in three engines."
    "But if an engine failed on take-off, or several hundred miles out over the ocean, could – – –"
    "Mr. Fokker wouldn't consider selling a single-engined plane for a flight over the Atlantic Ocean."
    The salesman's voice is sharpening. He's still courteous; but I can see that he had formed his estimate, and rejected me as an important prospect. I slip away as soon as I can, and walk out through the little town of Anglum, along the narrow dirt road, to farm lands beyond. I need time, alone, to think.
    I don't want a trimotored plane. Besides costing more, a big plane isn't as efficient, and it would need a crew. I'd rather go alone. I inquired about it more at