Ted Mackay did not sleep well on the night of the twenty-eighth of December. It was one o'clock before he gave up expecting a telegram and finally went to bed. Even then he tossed restlessly.
Something, he thought, had surely happened to Linda Carlton and Louise Haydock. Had they merely been forced down in some lonely spot where there was no means of telegraphing, or had they met with some more serious accident? He was up and dressed at dawn on the twenty-ninth, wiring his firm for leave of absence to go in search of the lost flyers.
He decided not to telephone Miss Carlton or Mrs. Haydock yet; no need to worry them until it was absolutely necessary. Accordingly, he took off early in the morning of December twenty-ninth for Montreal, in his cabin mono-plane, equipped with skis for the snow.
The snow began to fall steadily that afternoon, and continued onthrough the night. But though Ted reached Montreal before dark, there was no news of two girls at any of the airports. If they had arrived, their plane would have been housed in some hangar in the city or near about it.
The snow was falling so fast and thick that Ted realized that night flying would be foolish. Forcing himself to go to bed, he left a call at the hotel desk for four o'clock the following day.
His first stop, at dawn on December thirtieth, was the French Convent. There at least he got some information: the girls had been there, safe and unharmed, two days previous. But where were they now?
Air travel was difficult in the snowstorm, but he shuddered to think of them alone in the woods, if something had gone wrong with their Arrow. How much food were they carrying, and what about blankets? How long could they endure the cold?
Fortunately his plane was built for low flying, and he went carefully, just clearing the tree-tops, looking everywhere for a wrecked plane. About noon he was rewarded. Off on a hill, in a bank of snow, he found the blackened remains of the gallant little Pursuit.But, thank Heaven, no signs of human bodies in the wreckage!
He spent perhaps half an hour searching and calling his lost friends, but when he received no response, he decided that the best thing for him to do was to go back to the nearest town and report the wreck by wire, and send out an S.O.S. for searching parties. It was this account that Bess Hulbert read in the early afternoon papers and announced to the Flying Club members.
Ted lost no time in sending the communication, and returning to the scene of the disaster, resolving to circle the district again and again, watching for signals. There was still hope that the girls were alive.
About two o'clock he sighted the little cabin in the woods and hunted for a spot to land. This might mean protection for Linda and Louise, from the terrible storm. How he hoped that they had found it, and were now warm and safe inside!
Five minutes later he left his plane and walked excitedly to the hut. But because of the snow his approach was noiseless, and the girls, who happened to be cooking in the little kitchen at the time, had noidea that rescue was at hand.
Ted lifted his fist and banged on the heavy door.
"Who can it be?" gasped Louise, dropping the tin cup she was holding, and spilling flour all over the floor. "If it were that sergeant, he'd open the door. We can't possibly."
"Of course not," replied Linda. "But let's go see who it is. Those bars won't keep us from looking out."
Breathlessly they dashed to the living-room window, and tapped against the glass, for they could not see the door in their position.
Bliss, oh, bliss! A moment later they recognized the dear familiar form of Ted Mackay!
"Unbar the door!" shouted Louise, giving a leap into the air. "We're locked in!"
Ted's mouth opened in amazement, but he heard what they said, and instantly went over and did what he was told. Then he stepped inside, and, wet and covered with snow as he was, both girls flung their arms around him and cried in rapture.
"Angel!" exclaimed Louise.
"Messenger from Heaven!" added Linda.
They released him, and made him take off his coat, and come to the fire to get warm.
It took an hour to tell all the details of their hazardous adventure,which had ended in this most surprising way, with imprisonment, and while they talked, they ate the hot-cakes and the coffee which Linda and Louise were making when Ted arrived. Then the latter glanced at his watch and said they had better be starting.
"Ought we to wash these dishes?" inquired Linda, when they finished, and went for their coats and leggings and helmets.
"I should say not!" thundered Louise, with a vengeance. "I'd like to smash and dirty everything in the old cabin!"
"Don't forget it saved our lives," Linda reminded her, laughingly.
But they did not wait. Time was precious now; they wanted to take off before it was any darker, or the snow grew too deep. Opening the door, they stepped outside just as two men on horseback drew up to the cabin. Marshall and the sergeant had returned.
"What's this?" demanded the latter, in a gruff, insulting tone. "Making a get-away, are you?" He glanced suspiciously at Ted. "Maybe you don't know these young women are under arrest!"
"Are they?" retorted Ted. "Well, so are you, for that matter! For notreporting that wreck two days ago! Don't you know it's a government regulation that wrecked planes must be reported as soon as possible?"
The man shuffled nervously, kicking the snow against his horse.
"Well, I'm reportin' it," he asserted, defiantly.
"Today? You bet you'll report it today! It's two days too late, though!"
"They're smugglers," he sneered, scornfully. "Smugglers is enemies to the country, and don't deserve no consideration!"
"We'll see about that!" replied Ted masterfully, as he glowered at the girls' accuser. Linda and Louise stood quietly by, watching him in admiration. How grand it was to have a friend like this!
"You girls come along with me," snarled the officer. "I'm takin' you to the Court House."
"I'll take them to the Court House," amended Ted. "In my plane. You needn't be afraid I won't show up! I have plenty I want to report myself."
Sullenly the man agreed to the offer, for he still had no desire to take that young spit-fire, as he called Louise, on his horse. Waitingonly to see the plane take off into the air, he galloped away with his friend, Marshall.
Linda and Louise felt so gay and happy that they shouted and sang during the entire flight. It was close quarters in the little cabin plane, but who cared? They were free—or soon would be free—once more!
Though Ted smiled at their joviality, he felt more like praying. He was so grateful, so relieved that they were alive and safe, that he was filled with a solemn sense of thanksgiving. For he realized what a terrible fate they had escaped in jumping from that empty plane.
They landed at the little town where the sergeant had directed them, and Ted wired immediately to Mrs. Haydock and to Mr. Carlton, and to Linda's aunt. Then they went to the Court House, arriving before the men on horseback.
There, at last, the girls were allowed to tell their story, which a kindly judge listened to in righteous anger. And when Linda and Louise produced all their evidence, by going into detail about Mr. Carlton's business, and their own reason for the flight, they had no difficulty in convincing him of their innocence. Thingswould not go easily with this fellow, who had locked them up without hearing their version, or reporting them immediately to the authorities. The judge said he would see that the man was punished, when he finally arrived.
"Do we need bail or anything?" asked Linda, who knew nothing about courts or legal matters. "We have wired to our Dads, and they'll probably be right up here, as fast as a train can bring them."
"No, that is not necessary," smiled the judge. "Because I am convinced of your innocence.... You better wire your fathers not to come—it will only delay your return.... But before you go, I should to like to hear more of the real criminal, this woman who, you say, has been smuggling. Tell me her name, and give me a description of her."
"Her name is Bess Hulbert," replied Louise. "But we're pretty sure she goes under an assumed name—possibly 'Anna Smith'." She was thinking of Linda's conversation in Plattsburg over the telephone, with Hofstatter's mother. "And probably by this time she has changed it again."
"I don't think you'll have to worry about her any more," added Linda. "The minute she hears we are safe, she'll know her game is up,and give up the underhand business."
"Just the same, she ought to be caught and punished!" cried Louise, vindictively. She had said nothing about their belief of the cause of their leaking tank, for after all they had no proof, and this judge could do nothing. But for that reason more than any, Louise wanted her punished.
Promising the judge that they would try to get hold of Miss Hulbert's picture, the girls shook hands with him and left, accompanied by Ted Mackay, who was grinning harder than usual now. Everything was so right!
Dusk had set in already, though the storm had passed, and a beautiful sunset was fading from the sky, promising a clear day for the flyers tomorrow.
"I think we had better rest tonight," said Ted, as he followed the girls into a taxicab. "You girls can stay at the hotel—there is only one, for this is a small place—and I'll get a room over near the airport. I want to spend some time checking up on my plane, and I think I'll try to get somebody to help me. It's a long flight back to Spring City."
"Oh!" cried Linda, rapturously. "Won't it be marvelous to behome? I'm glad we have a couple of days before we have to go back to school!"
"Sure you don't mind flying?" asked Ted. "You're not nervous, after your narrow escape?"
"We've forgotten that," replied Louise. "Forgotten everything except that we are eligible for the Caterpillar Club now."
"Linda has been for a long time—since her first flight up," Ted reminded them.
The machine stopped at the hotel, and Ted helped the girls to get out.
"You'll come back and have dinner with us, won't you, Ted?" asked Louise anxiously.
"O.K.—if you want me," he promised. "Only I mustn't stay afterwards, or go to the movies with you. I've got to work on that plane."
The girls found their hotel warm and comfortable, though naturally not luxurious like those in the large cities. But after their two days in that cramped little hut, it seemed like a veritable palace. Bathing in a real bathtub was a joy that they had sadly missed, and the dinner seemed like a banquet to them, after doing their own cooking with such a limited supply of food.
But best of all were their conversations with their families thatevening, which, as Louise said, were worth all the money in the world to her. Long distance charges meant nothing, compared to the bliss of hearing her mother's voice over that wire. And Linda felt the same way about her Aunt Emily and her father, who, by this time, was at home.
Finally they brought their conversations to a reluctant end, promising to be home the next night—in time for the New Year's Eve dance!
The sun was setting over the snow-covered horizon when Ted Mackay landed his mono-plane at Spring City on the last afternoon of the old year. A trifle stiff from their long ride, but still happy and carefree, the girls stepped out on the field.
At the arrival of the plane several of the men employed at the airport rushed out and greeted Linda Carlton, for they knew her well, from flying her Pursuit over Spring City, and coming there for supplies and inspection. Of course they had read her story in the newspapers.
"But you won't be flying for a while now, will you Miss Carlton?" remarked one of the men, regretfully.
"I shan't be flying the Pursuit," answered Linda. "But we have planes at school. I am taking a course at a ground school in St. Louis this year."
"What kind of course, Miss Carlton?"
"I am in line for two licenses—a commercial pilot's and a mechanic's."
"Mechanic's!" repeated the man, in consternation. "Are you in earnest?"
"Certainly," smiled Linda, for she was quite used to people exclaiming over her chosen study. "Will you give me a job here when I finish?"
"I'll say we will! If you'd take it. But you won't. You'll have bigger offers than this."
"Come along, Linda!" urged Louise, pulling her chum by the arm. "Aren't you cold?"
"No, but I'm dying to see my family," she replied, and followed Louise to the taxi which Ted had engaged.
In contrast to her homecoming before Christmas, when her father and her aunt were plunged in gloom, Linda found them almost hysterical in their joy. Never had her father seemed so wrought up, so emotional. He kissed her again and again. Tears streamed down her aunt's cheeks.
"Darling child!" she cried, "we thought we should never see you again! Oh, your father and I have never had two such dreadful days as yesterday and the day before!"
"But they're over now," returned Linda. "And the only sad part of itall is that I have no plane."
"Which is all for the best," was Miss Carlton's comment.
"I wish that I could buy you another," lamented her father.
It was then that Linda told her story, giving her reasons for the trip, and the events that led up to her suspicions about Bess Hulbert. Only one part she omitted—and that was her own desire to buy a Bellanca and fly the Atlantic. It would be a very poor time to tell her aunt of any such a wish.
Mr. Carlton listened in amazement; he was sure his daughter was correct in all her surmises.
"We can easily put an end to Miss Hulbert's smuggling now," he said. "With the help of the United States officers.... Why, Linda, you have saved my business!"
"I hope we have, Daddy. But don't forget the credit goes to Louise too. I never could have done anything without her to help me."
"That's all perfectly lovely," put in Miss Carlton. "But the person I'm most grateful to is Ted Mackay. No knowing what might have happened if he hadn't rescued you when he did. And think of the hours oftorturing suspense he saved us all here at home!"
"Yes, that's right," agreed her brother, who now thoroughly approved of the young man. "I'd like to thank him myself. Where is he, Linda?"
"He went home with Lou. She invited him before I even thought of it. But she asked us all to come over to their house to dinner. How about it, Aunt Emily?"
"I'd be delighted. At least, if you'd rather go there than to the New Year's Eve dance at the Country Club."
"I'd rather go to both," announced Linda, gayly. "Lou and Ted expect to take that in too, for I heard her saying she'd dig out a costume for him. Could you find something for me, Auntie?"
"Of course I could," replied the older woman, smiling happily. It was just like old times again, she thought—with dinner parties and costume dances to take one's attention.
"I'll go up in the attic right away," she decided. "What sort of thing would you prefer?"
"Anything different from this dirty old flyer's suit. I hate the sight of it, after living in it at that miserable cabin. Why, Ihaven't had anything else since we left Plattsburg! I'm going to burn it tonight!"
Again Miss Carlton smiled; this was the Linda she liked best, the dainty girl who looked charming in fluffy, feminine gowns.
"I'm going to hurry and get my bath before anybody comes," added the girl. "And get into a dinner dress."
She left just in time, for no sooner had she reached the top of the stairs than she heard Ralph Clavering's voice in the hall.
"Linda! Linda!" he shouted, for her father had told him that she had just gone upstairs to dress.
"Hello, Ralph!" she called back. "I'm dying to see you, but I'm not presentable. Can you wait about twenty minutes?"
"I don't want to," he answered impatiently. "But I must, if you say so. Will you go to the dance with me tonight?"
"O.K.," she replied, joyfully. "I was 'waiting-for-a-partner,' just as we used to sing in that game we played when we were kids. Ted and Lou are going together, and I was left over!"
"As if Linda Carlton would ever be left over!" he muttered tohimself, in amusement.
When she came downstairs, fifteen minutes later, arrayed in pink chiffon, he longed so to take her in his arms that it actually hurt to restrain himself. It was so good to see her again—alive and unharmed—more beautiful than ever! He wished she were not so capable, so bent upon having a career. A girl who looked so adorable had no right to possess the keen mind of a man.
But both Mr. Carlton and his sister were in the room, and Ralph had to content himself with shaking hands with Linda.
The time was short, however; even as she began to answer his questions, the phone bell rang. Congratulations were pouring in; telegrams and flowers arrived, and finally Ralph gave up hoping to talk to her.
"I'll come for you about ten o'clock," he managed to whisper into her ear while she sat at the telephone. Ever so lightly, without her even realizing it, he touched her hair with his lips.
It was with difficulty that she broke away at last, and went with her father and her aunt to Louise's in the big car that the chauffeur drove. Thanks to Linda, her aunt Emily would not have to give it up asshe had expected.
That dinner party was the noisiest, jolliest affair Linda had ever attended. No holiday occasion had ever aroused such unrestrained merry-making. Even Ted Mackay, who usually was shy among strangers, felt perfectly at home. Louise's small brother insisted upon sitting next to him at dinner, and regarded him as a favored hero—in the class with Byrd and Lindbergh.
"Ted and I have gone into a conspiracy," announced Louise. "We're going to track down Bess Hulbert tonight, and make her confess everything!"
"At the party?" asked Linda, in amazement.
"Surest thing! It'll only add to the excitement."
"You'll never catch that baby!" remarked her brother, significantly.
"Go carefully," warned Mr. Haydock. "After all, there is a chance that she isn't guilty."
"A pretty slim chance!" laughed his daughter. "Anyway, it will be fun to spot her among all those rigs and false-faces."
"I thought you were going to say rigs and wigs, Sis!"
"All right, any way you like, Tim. Only I guess we better stop fooling and get dressed. It may take a good while to wiggle into our costumes. Especially yours, Big Boy," she added, to Ted. For he was to wear an old suit of her father's, which was sure to be rather small for him.
The girls, who had been used to these sorts of affairs, found the dance just like all the other parties. Lights, splendid costumes, gayety, color, and music; but to Ted Mackay it was strange and exciting. But he danced well, and his manners were just as good as those of the other boys—if anything he was more courteous than many of them. To his surprise he found that he was being fêted along with Linda and Louise, who were singled out and congratulated every few minutes, not only by friends, but by mere acquaintances as well, who had read about them in the papers and felt proud to know them.
But although Ted was carried away by the fun and the excitement, Louise did not forget the fact that she had a self-appointed duty to perform, to corner Bess Hulbert, and ply her with questions.
She thought she had identified her in a Dutch girl's costume, but shefound when they all unmasked for supper that she was mistaken.
"Where's that Hulbert woman?" she asked Kitty Clavering, irritably. Louise just had to be frank; if she felt no respect for a person she made no effort to conceal her opinion.
Kitty flushed. She never could understand why her friends did not care for Bess Hulbert as she did. The young woman was getting to be very unpopular at the Flying Club, and Ralph positively detested her.
"Bess?" she stammered. "She's gone abroad."
"Abroad!" repeated Louise, aghast, wondering whether she and Linda could have been mistaken all along. "When did she go?"
"She's sailing today. She left here for New York yesterday."
"What for?" demanded Louise, bluntly. But already she had guessed the reason. They had not been mistaken at all: Bess Hulbert was fleeing from justice!
"She's English, you know," Kitty explained. "Her family—except her brother—are all in England."
"Has she given up the idea of competing for that prize?"
"I don't think so. Not if she can get a boat, as she calls it."
"Have her people money?"
"How do I know?" retorted Kitty, in exasperation at this cross-examination. She never had got on well with Louise Haydock; she couldn't understand how such a sweet girl as Linda Carlton could want her as a best friend.
She turned abruptly away, for at that moment Lieutenant Hulbert entered the room, and made straight for Kitty. From that moment on, she had neither eyes nor ears for anyone else.
Louise was thankful to have Ted appear to claim her for another dance, and she told him immediately of Bess Hulbert's sudden departure.
"Just what we might have expected," said Ted. "Well, that is proof enough that she is guilty. Are you going on with the chase?"
"How can I—now? But if she ever dares to set foot in the United States again, and compete for that prize, I'll certainly do everything I can to expose her guilt."
"Don't forget, if you need me, I'm always right there!" Ted remindedher.
"I'll never forget it," Louise replied, wishing that she didn't like him so much. After all, he was Linda's find—and if her chum cared for him—and wanted him——
But Linda Carlton did not look at this moment as if she wanted anyone or anything more than she had. One partner after another would snatch her away when she had danced only half-way around the ballroom. Ralph Clavering was the most persistent pursuer of them all; he never allowed her a single dance without cutting in at least twice.
At first Linda took this as a joke, but when it happened for seven dances in succession, she grew a trifle weary, and asked him to stop it.
"If you will give me two whole dances alone—sitting them out in the balcony," he agreed. "Then I'll be satisfied."
"Why two?" she countered.
"Because I have so much to say to you!"
"Oh, all right," she said, and together they pushed through the crowd, up the stairs to the balcony to a spot where a long bench was hidden behind some palms.
She looked at him questioningly.
"Linda darling, haven't you guessed what it is all about?" he demanded, bending over so close to her that his face almost touched hers. "I love you! I've always loved you! I want you to give up this fool air school, and marry me. Elope with me! Tonight!"
Linda drew back, in amazement.
"Why, Ralph, you're talking of something impossible!" she said, hurt at the very idea. "Imagine your father—my Aunt Emily—if we eloped!... I never did think elopements were romantic—only selfish, when you consider the folks at home. Besides, you have college to finish——"
"I could chuck it!" he interrupted, putting his arm about her slender shoulders, and drawing her closer to him. "Please! I'll buy you a new plane——"
"Now Ralph!" she laughed, and rose quickly to her feet. "Don't try to bribe me. No—positively no!"
"But you do like me?"
"Yes. Heaps."
"Not love?"
"I don't care for any man in that way," she declared.
"Are you sure you don't love Ted Mackay?" Jealousy was always a part of Ralph's nature.
"Oh, no! I have always admired him for his ability. But I don't love him.... No, I'm only in love with aviation."
He was standing too, looking disappointed, but not heart-broken.
"I may ask you again?" he pleaded.
"When you graduate from college, yes."
"Two and a half years to wait!" he sighed, despondently.
"If I'm not lost in the ocean in the meanwhile," she added, lightly.
"Linda, that reminds me—" He pulled her down to the bench again. "I know you're counting on trying for that prize—oh, don't deny it, for I saw the excitement in your eyes that day Bob Hulbert made the announcement—but I don't think you can hope to win, even if you do get hold of another plane.... I'm afraid that Hulbert woman is going to beat you to it."
"Why, Ralph?" asked Linda, seeing that it was useless to deny her desire.
"Because I believe she's planning to fly soon."
"What with?"
"She's gone to England to have a special plane made.... I'll tell you asecret, if you promise not to breathe it to Kitty that I told you: Sis lent her her pearls, so that Miss Hulbert could raise a loan for the price of the plane."
"Oh, no!" cried Linda, shocked for Kitty's sake, as well as for her own and Louise's.
"Yes, she did. I saw Miss Hulbert take away a box yesterday, and I questioned Kitty. So she told me why."
"Then," concluded Linda, dolefully, "I guess that settles it!"
"So you might as well give up aviation and marry me!"
"Forget it, Ralph!" Then, deliberately assuming a light-hearted manner again, she added, "Come on back and dance.... But remember—no more cutting in!"
The last day of the Christmas vacation—New Year's—passed very quickly for Linda Carlton. The dance had continued until almost dawn, and for once she stayed to the end. For there was no flight in store for her on the morrow, or the day after. She could be as sleepy as she wanted to.
Accordingly, her aunt did not wake her until noon, and only then because her father was taking a late afternoon train back to New York.
"I want to go for a walk with you this afternoon, Daughter," he said, while she ate her combined breakfast and luncheon. "I would like to have a talk with you."
"Yes, Daddy," replied Linda, trembling inside, lest he intended to tell her that he would forbid the ocean flight.
"Can you spare the time—say about three o'clock—from your social engagements?"
"I haven't any social engagements," she replied. "Lou and I didn'taccept anything for after Christmas Day."
"But I heard your aunt tell Mrs. Clavering this morning on the telephone that she'd see that you went to Kitty's dinner party."
Linda yawned. She had enjoyed the dance the night before, but it was enough to last her for a while.
"Is Lou going?" she inquired.
"I couldn't tell you that, my dear. You can call her up."
"All right. But in any case that wouldn't interfere with our walk, Daddy. I'll be ready at three."
Unlike most of her girl friends, whose days were spent in constant social activities, Linda was always punctual about her engagements. As the clock struck three, she appeared in the living-room. Dressed in her gray squirrel coat and matching beret and cloth boots, she presented a beautiful picture of up-to-date winter fashions. Linking her arm affectionately in her father's, she accompanied him out into the crisp, clear air, and started towards the outskirts of the town.
"Wouldn't you rather be sledding, my dear?" he asked, gazing at herin admiration.
"No, indeed!" she hastened to reply. "I'd much rather be with you.... Anyway, I suppose there will be a sledding-party after dinner tonight. Kitty told us to bring our sweaters and riding-breeches."
"Very well.... Have you guessed what I wanted to talk to you about?"
"Yes, I think I have—Daddy," she faltered.
"You have?" he repeated, smiling. "Well, first of all I want to tell you that I am exceedingly proud of your courage and pluck up there on the border, and in Canada, and that I think you have proved your ability to take care of yourself in a plane."
"Daddy!" she exclaimed, in surprise. "I was afraid you and Aunt Emily would say I could never fly again! After all the anxiety I caused you."
"That is what your aunt would like to say—but I feel differently. What happened was due to no fault or carelessness of yours, no lack of skill on your part. A less able pilot would have been killed, I am sure."
"It's awfully sweet of you to say that!"
"Well, I mean it. I'm convinced now that you have a right to go onwith aviation. And I am willing for you to order your plane for the ocean flight."
A thrill of emotion ran through Linda, so intense that she could not speak. Clasping his arm tightly with both her hands, she told him in the only way she could of her great gratitude.
Then she remembered his business.
"You won't need the money, Daddy?" she asked, after a moment.
"No—not now that I feel sure that your trip saved me, and that this unfair competition will cease. But just to make sure, I'll go to Canada tomorrow, and visit the Convent myself. I'll wire you results."
"I think," she said slowly, with tears dimming her blue eyes, "that you are the most wonderful father a girl ever had."
He patted her hand gently, not knowing how to reply, and they walked on for some time in silence.
It was not until the short winter afternoon was coming to a close, and they had turned their steps towards home that he mentioned his sister.
"I don't want you to say anything at all of this to your aunt,Linda," he cautioned her. "She might play on your unselfishness, and make you give it up. It is a risk, of course—I understand that, and I know just how she feels. But we all have to take risks in life; it would be dull indeed if we didn't. So I think I had better handle the thing myself—tell her sometime when I happen to come home when you aren't there. I can win her around to it, I know."
"That would be wonderful, Daddy!" cried the girl, in relief. It had been worrying her for a long time whenever she thought of securing her aunt's consent. She even believed that she might weaken herself, if the older woman used tears and pleading. For Linda could never forget what a loving foster-mother her Aunt Emily had always been.
"By the way, have you picked out your plane?" her father inquired.
"Yes, indeed! It's a Bellanca—they call it Model J 300. Just built for ocean flights! Oh, Daddy, it has everything to make it perfect! A capacity for carrying one hundred and five additional gallons of gasoline, besides the regular supply in the tanks of one hundred and eighty gallons! And a Wright three-hundred-horsepowerengine, and a tachometer, and a magnetic compass——"
"There, that's enough, Daughter!" he interrupted, smiling. "I'm afraid I don't know what all those terms mean. If you're satisfied that it's the best you can buy——"
"Oh, I am! I'm crazy about it. I'm going to put in my order the minute I get your telegram."
"And if anything should happen, so that you had to come down in the water, would it float?" he asked, with an imperceptible shudder. In spite of his bravery, the thought of Linda over that deep, wide ocean at night made his flesh creep.
"Yes, Daddy. The tanks permit the plane to float. You can be sure it will have every modern invention, every safety device there is today. It will cost about twenty-two thousand dollars!"
"That's right, Daughter," he approved. "If you're going at all, you must do the thing with the utmost care. Don't try to save money. A few hundred dollars might mean the difference between disaster and success."
"I know," she answered, solemnly.
As they were approaching the house, they began to talk of otherthings, as if by silent agreement. Airplanes and ocean flights were apparently forgotten, for the moment they were inside, Linda's Aunt Emily was urging her to get ready for the party. Unfortunately, Louise was not going. Like Linda, she had been invited at first, but once she refused, she was not popular enough with Kitty to be asked again. So Linda could not talk of her trip with anyone; she would have to wait until the following day, when Louise accompanied her back to the ground school.
It seemed strange indeed, to get up early the next morning and take a train back to St. Louis. Both the girls regretted the loss of the Pursuit, and realized how they were going to miss it, but they resolutely decided to be good sports and to try to joke about it.
"Don't forget we have to buy tickets," Linda reminded her chum. "Don't go to the window and ask for high-test gasoline!"
"Won't a train seem slow?" returned Louise. "Oh, well, we won't have to care about the weather, that's one good thing! Besides, we can sleep."
"As if you ever made a flight without at least one good nap!" teased the other.
But in spite of their assumed gayety, it seemed like a tiresome,endless journey, with a change of cars and a wait at the station. It was afternoon before they finally arrived at their destination.
Both girls had decided to say nothing about their holiday adventure, but when they reached the school, they found themselves being treated as heroines. Everybody had read all about them in the papers, and knew that they had jumped from parachutes and that they had lost the Pursuit.
"But you'll soon be graduating from here, and making all kinds of money," one of the instructors told Linda hopefully. "And then you will be able to buy another plane of your own."
(Sooner than you think, Linda said to herself, for no one but Mr. Eckers at the school knew of her proposed trans-Atlantic flight.)
Both girls plunged headlong into the work, forgetting everything but the studies that were before them. Only, Linda could not forget to watch eagerly for the telegram that would mean her father's final consent.
It arrived three days later, saying that all his business troubles had vanished, and that he had sold enough of her bonds for her towrite a check for her Bellanca.
Wild with joy, she dashed across the flying field to the hangar where Louise happened to be taking some notes from Eckers.
"Everything's O.K.!" she cried, as she burst open the door. "We can fly to Paris, Lou!"
Her chum jumped up and the girls hugged each other in ecstasy, much to the amusement of the elderly instructor.
"So you're ordering a Bellanca long-distance mono-plane?" he asked.
"Yes. Tonight! Oh, Mr. Eckers, from its pictures, from its description, it's absolutely marvelous. And as safe as an ocean-liner!"
"Safer!" amended Louise, "Ocean-liners sometimes sink. But never a Bellanca!"
"We're going to be awfully careful and thorough about our preparations, Mr. Eckers," Linda explained, as she detached herself from Louise's arms, and sat down on the edge of his desk. "Just like Lindbergh!"
"Well, I hope you have Lindbergh's success," was the instructor's fervent wish. "But tell me, Miss Carlton, have you heard of any others who are planning to try for this prize?"
"Only one so far. She's in England now, having her plane built there, Ibelieve."
Louise gritted her teeth at the mention of Bess Hulbert, but she said nothing.
"Then you'll simply have to beat her!" cried the man, enthusiastically. "It must be an American plane that wins. And American girls!"
"Of course some of our best aviatrices may compete," put in Louise.
"You mean women like Amelia Earhart?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Somehow I don't think she will," said Mr. Eckers. "Miss Earhart is too good a sport to take honors from a younger, less experienced flyer. She doesn't go out for sensational glory. She doesn't have to. She has already won her place."
"But of course some of the younger girls may."
"Yes. But you girls have a better chance than anybody, I think. Better prepared. Besides, the difficulty is going to be getting a suitable plane. It would be fool-hardy for anybody to take a chance in a plane that wasn't super-tested, and super-equipped. And few parents are going to give their consent, even if they can provide themoney.... I believe your greatest opponent is this English girl."
"Well, we're going to beat her!" announced Louise, defiantly, and she did not add that she meant to take harsh measures if that young woman put in an appearance in the United States.
"When do you expect to go?" questioned Eckers.
"The twentieth of May, if the weather is right," replied Linda. "I believe in luck, and that was Lindy's lucky day."
"And Linda Carlton's!" added Louise, as the girls went off to send their order.
Linda Carlton had always been a girl of a single purpose. It was this characteristic that set her apart from Louise Haydock, from her other girl friends—in fact, from practically all of her sex. In this she was more like a man, with a man's mind.
She never could see the advisability of mixing pleasure with work; when she was determined to accomplish or to learn something, nothing could distract her. Now while she was bending all her energy to the winning of her mechanic's license and the thorough preparation for her trans-Atlantic flight she grew impatient with even her chum for desiring to lead a social life.
One cold night in February, when she was desperately trying to concentrate on a treatise on airplane engines, Louise annoyed her exceedingly by moving restlessly about the bedroom and interrupting her every few minutes with remarks and questions.
"I do wish you'd be more sociable, Linda!" she exclaimed, taking adance dress out of the closet, and surveying it mournfully.
"I'm sorry, Lou—I'm busy," replied her companion, without looking up.
"Well, just give me five minutes. Then I'll leave you alone."
"All right," agreed Linda, trying to be patient.
"Gaze on this dress, please. Don't you think it's an absolute wash-out?"
"I never heard of anybody's washing chiffon," remarked Linda, facetiously. "Why not try having it cleaned?"
"Don't be smart! You're wasting your precious time.... But seriously, Linda, could I or couldn't I wear it Saturday night to that dance Ted and his boy friend are taking us to?"
"I suppose you could. But why not send home for another?"
"There isn't time. Besides, I'd love something new.... Here's my idea, Linda. Let's take tomorrow off—entirely off—and go on a shopping bat. I'm positively sick for one!"
"For the love of Pete!" cried Linda, in exasperation. "You don't know what you're asking, Lou. Tomorrow they're going to bring an_autogiro_ to the school, and Mr. Eckers said there was some chance of my being allowed to fly it!"
"Autogiro?" repeated Louise. "What's that?"
"You know, Lou! Get your mind off pink chiffon, and you'll remember. It's that new plane Cierva, the Spaniard, invented—with a windmill sort of thing on top—that can land and take off in a very small space. I'm just crazy to examine one and fly it myself."
Her companion assumed an air of resignation.
"Very well. If you want to go to that dance at the Aviation Club looking like something the cat dragged in, you can! But I'm not. I'm going to get me some raiment."
"I don't want to go to the dance at all."
"What?"
"You heard me, Lou."
"Have you written that to Ted?"
"No. I didn't say positively last week that I'd go. And I haven't time to waste on social correspondence. It's all I can do to get off my weekly letters to Daddy and Aunt Emily. You tell him."
"But Linda, Ted's boy friend won't have any girl!"
"You can manage 'em both. I've seen you take care of six or seven on Sunday nights at home."
"That was different."
"Well settle it to suit yourself. Only, remember, I'm not going. I'll be at the school all day Saturday and I'm not going to rush back to a beauty shop to get my hands and fingernails into shape for a dance. I'm staying home!"
Speechless, Louise stood gazing at her chum in utter incomprehension. She was past understanding.
Thinking the conversation ended, Linda returned to her pamphlet. But her room-mate had not finished.
"Linda, I want to ask you something—while we're on the subject of Ted Mackay, and these nice parties he is always planning for us. How much do you care for him?"
"Not a rap!" Of course that was not exactly the truth, for Linda did like the big fellow immensely. But lately she had grown very tired of his regular week-end visits.
"Linda Carlton! You ought to be ashamed of yourself to say a thinglike that! After all Ted's done for you."
"Well, I guess I was exaggerating. But I'm fed up with him, Lou. I'm not going out with him any more for a while. And that's that!"
"Do you mind if I do?"
"Certainly not. Go all you please, if you won't try to drag me in!"
Louise sat down, and fingered her dress nervously. There was one more question she just had to ask.
"Linda, will you tell me the truth about this: Would you mind if I—I—cared a whole lot about Ted?"
At last Linda was interested. She closed her booklet, and turned about to face the other girl. Seeing how serious, how ardent, yet how confused Louise was, she smiled warmly.
"I think it's lovely, Lou!" she assured her. "If you really care for Ted—because I've known for months that he's head over heels in love with you. Nothing but the real thing could pull him away from his work." Her tone was that of a person much older. "I say, 'Bless you, my children!'"
Louise was at her side now, kissing her ecstatically.
"I was so desperately afraid you'd mind, Linda!"
Linda laughed at the mistake. It really was funny. Louise—usually so cocksure of herself in everything—was so modest that she couldn't see Ted's very evident admiration.
"You're a goose, Lou, but a dear, foolish goose!" Her brow suddenly darkened. "Does this mean you won't fly with me to Paris?"
"Oh, no! 'Course I'll go. I'm sure Ted wouldn't want me not to."
"I'm not so sure myself," muttered Linda, remembering how Ralph Clavering had tried to get her to give up the flight. Men were funny when they were in love, she thought; it did not occur to her that girls were funny too.
Louise seemed perfectly satisfied, and did not open her mouth again that evening until Linda put her work away and suggested that they go downstairs and ask for cookies and milk, which their kind landlady always provided for them.
But Louise did not give up her decision about the shopping trip, and the next day Linda went to the ground school alone, to forget everything else in her admiration of the autogiro which had arrived.
It was a queer little boat, the motor in its nose, and an ordinarypropeller, just like an airplane. Its wings, however, were stubby, and the strangest part of it was the windmill-like arrangement, or rotary wing, mounted right on the top.
Everybody at the school was gathered about it, eagerly examining it, when Linda appeared, and she lost no time in joining the group. Mr. Eckers was explaining its parts to the students.
"It really is remarkable," he was saying, "the way it can rise vertically right over a given place. It can hover over a spot while it is climbing upward, and can land with almost no forward motion. For this reason a huge landing field is not necessary. I believe it is the plane for the city dweller."
"Everyone can keep an autogiro in his back yard," remarked one of the students. "And make his landing on a postage stamp! Believe—me—I'm going to have one! And I don't mean maybe."
Mr. Eckers continued his explanation, telling them that the autogiro could fly very low, only a few feet from the ground, and then he went on to compare it with the helicopter, another new-fashioned invention somewhat similar.
When he had finished his remarks, he offered to take the studentsin turn for rides, and they all pressed eagerly forward. All except Linda Carlton, for she was too shy to make her wishes known. Besides, she felt that she did not have to tell Mr. Eckers; he would know how interested she was.
But the time was too short, and the students too many. Closing hour arrived, and Linda had not had her flight. Stopping in at the instructor's office at five o'clock, she told him wistfully that she had missed out.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Carlton!" he exclaimed, in genuine regret. "But those boys acted just like children, pushing in the way they did. Never you mind, though, you'll get your turn tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" she repeated. "I thought the autogiro was to be sent to Birmingham, Alabama!"
"So it is. But after a little practice with it, I'm going to let you take it."
"Me?"
"Yes, you! Because you are such a good flyer, and because you are a mechanic besides. There's another job at the end of the trip—taking another plane—not an autogiro—to Nashville, Tennessee. All your expenses will be paid, and there willbe twenty-five dollars in it for you. Would you like to do it?"
"Would I?" cried Linda, her eyes shining with happiness. "I'd just love it."
"Then you can make your plans."
"Could I—take Miss Haydock with me?" she asked, timidly.
"Why, of course. That will make it all the better. I think we can even pay her hotel expenses, though of course she won't make any money. It is because you are a mechanic as well as a flyer that you are in a position to earn the money."
"Because I am a mechanic!" she repeated softly to herself. Her wish was really coming true.
"Be on hand at eight o'clock tomorrow, if the day is clear," the instructor concluded. "And don't wait for that girl friend of yours, if she is late. She cut classes today—isn't sick, is she?"
"No," laughed Linda. "Playing hookey, I'm afraid."
"Just a typical girl," muttered the man. "We have 'em all the time here—society dames, flying as a fad, school-girls, for the excitement of the thing, married women who are tired of housekeeping.... Thereisn't one in a thousand who takes it seriously, as you do, Miss Carlton."
"Thank you, Mr. Eckers," replied Linda, blushing at his praise.... "How long shall I be gone—on this trip, I mean?"
"You ought to be able to get to Birmingham before dark tomorrow. Then you can rest tomorrow night, and start to Nashville Saturday—if the weather is O.K. But don't try to fly too fast with this other plane, and don't attempt it till the weather is perfect. The plane's in good condition, but it's an old one, and I wouldn't want anything to happen to you. If you have to stay at Birmingham a week on account of fog, or something, it will be O.K. with me, and your expenses will be paid. You take a train back from Nashville."
"I'll get my map and directions tomorrow?"
"Yes. I'll have them here for you, all ready."
Linda went back to her boarding-house in an exalted frame of mind, singing as she entered her room. She found her chum equally gay, sitting on the bed amidst a pile of packages.
"Have a good time, Lou?" she asked, merrily.
"And how!"
"So did I! And I've got the best news yet. We fly an autogiro to Birmingham tomorrow."
"Who do?"
"You and I, Lou! Our expenses are to be paid, and we get twenty-five dollars besides!" Linda did not add that it was she who was earning the money, for she had already made up her mind to share it with her chum.
Louise shook her head.
"Not this baby!" she said. "Tomorrow's Friday, Linda. I might not get back in time for the dance Saturday night. No, my dear, I'm not taking any chances."
"Do you really mean that, Lou? Give up a wonderful trip like this, just to go to an old dance? You could wire Ted."
"But I don't want to, Linda. Why, my heart'd break if I couldn't wear these new clothes I just bought.... Gaze on them! How about this cerise taffeta? Would you ever think any trimming could be so clever? It's made of feathers, you see—and look how the slippers match!"
Linda stood perfectly still, gazing at the finery without seeing it.
"You really won't go, Lou?" she repeated. "Even if I rush the trip?"
"Oh no, Linda, I couldn't possibly disappoint Ted."
Seeing that it was useless to try to persuade her, Linda rushed downstairs and called Nancy Bancroft on the telephone, inviting her instead, and this time she was gratified with an acceptance.
The day of Linda Carlton's flight to Birmingham, Alabama, was warm and spring-like. It was only a false spring, to be sure, the kind that sometimes comes suddenly in February, making everyone long to be out of doors. How lucky for her, she thought. If it would only last a couple of days!
Nancy Bancroft was already at the school when Linda arrived, alert and eager for the trip. She had just received her private pilot's license a few days previous, but she did not expect to attempt to guide the autogiro. Nevertheless, she would be company for the more experienced aviatrix.
Half an hour's instruction was all that Mr. Eckers considered necessary, and before nine o'clock the girls took off for the South. Linda couldn't help singing for joy. The autogiro was so much fun!
"Dad's going to buy me a plane," Nancy informed her companion. "Assoon as I get home next week."
"Next week?" repeated Linda.
"Yes. I'm leaving the school as soon as we get back. I have my license, you know—that's what I wanted."
Linda was silent, thinking of Mr. Eckers' remark about girls the day before. Yes, he must be right, their ambition usually ended with the government's permission to fly.
"I'll miss you dreadfully, Nance!" was all she said.
"You must fly to New York often," urged the other.
The country over which the girls were flying was beautiful and the air delightful. As they went farther south, they recognized real evidences of spring in the foliage. The little plane hummed gayly on, with never a disturbance in its sturdy motor. Linda was exceedingly happy.
Noon-time came, and they ate their sandwiches and drank the coffee which Linda's kind-hearted landlady had insisted upon providing, but they did not stop. Everything was going so wonderfully that they hated to break the spell. At this rate they ought to reach Birmingham long before dark.
It was about two o'clock that they met with a strange adventure. Flyingalong at an even rate, high enough to span the woods that loomed ahead of them, there suddenly appeared, out of nowhere it seemed, what the girls thought to be a formation of airplanes.
"Go carefully!" warned Nancy. "Don't forget that awful accident a while ago, when several planes were flying in formation!"
Linda curved to the side, but the planes seemed to be flying straight at her.
"They haven't any sense at all!" she cried, in exasperation, now seriously fearing disaster.
On they rushed, till a cold fear gripped Linda's heart. Try as she might, she couldn't get out of their way! It was all like a dreadful dream, when something menacing rushes inevitably towards you, yet you are powerless to stop. Then, in a flash, Linda perceived what the formation was.
Eagles! Great, huge, ominous birds, traveling through the air with the speed of machines. Involuntarily, she reached for her gun.
"No use!" shouted Nancy, in terror. "Too many of them!"
Realizing the truth of Nancy's words, Linda did the only thingpossible: swiftly, almost recklessly, she landed on the ground, expecting to be dashed upward again, or the plane turned over, pinning her and her companion beneath. But miraculously, nothing disastrous happened; the autogiro had come down vertically and stopped. That, then, was the wonder of this marvelous little machine! Had it been any other kind of plane, the girls would surely have been injured—and possibly killed!
They had landed in a small clearing between the trees. Shutting off her engine, Linda turned, gasping, to her friend.
"Would you ever believe, a thing like that if you read it?" she demanded.
"The landing—or the birds?" inquired Nancy, still breathless with excitement.
"I really meant the birds, for I knew that the autogiro was wonderful. I've seen them land and take off before, though of course I never tried anything like this."
"Well, I did read about big birds bothering pilots one time—in a newspaper, I guess. But I didn't think much about it."
They waited quietly for a while until they felt calm again. The birds had flown on immediately; there was nothing to prevent theirtaking up their journey again. Ordinarily Linda would have been apprehensive of a take-off in so small a space, but after her landing, she felt confident. The autogiro rose instantly, almost vertically, and they were on their course again.
"I'm going to get Dad to buy me an autogiro!" Nancy announced. "This has decided me."
"Me too!" agreed Linda.
"But you'll have a big Bellanca!" Nancy said. "Lou told me you put in the order."
"I may not have, after we try that ocean trip," returned the other girl. "We may be ship-wrecked and picked up by some boat——"
"So long as you are picked up, it'll be O.K.... Oh, Linda, I think you are just marvelous!"
"Thanks, Nance. But I don't deserve the praise yet. Wait till I earn it."
Only a short distance stretched between them and Birmingham now, and Linda covered it in record time. Safe and sound she brought the autogiro down on the airport before four o'clock in the afternoon. Turning it over to the authorities, and giving her instructions about the other plane, which was to be ready the following day, Lindasummoned a taxi and asked to be driven to the best hotel.
The rest of the day was their own, and the girls enjoyed it thoroughly, eating a luxurious dinner, and attending a show afterward. On their way home from the theater, Nancy asked more questions about Linda's proposed trans-Atlantic flight, and the latter told her everything—even to the story of the enemy whom she and Louise most feared: Bess Hulbert.
"But I don't see why you should worry about her," said Nancy. "She wouldn't dare come back to the United States again."
"I'm not so sure of that. Now that some time has passed, she'll think everyone's forgotten about her crimes."
"I hope not," replied Nancy, optimistically.
Little did the girls think, as they discussed Bess Hulbert, that evening, that they would run into her the following day, just as Linda was fearing might happen at some time or another.
It all happened suddenly, at the field of the airplane construction company in Nashville, Tennessee, where Linda had delivered the second plane without any mishap.
She had just received the president's signature on the deliverycard, and was about to summon a taxi, when the man made a generous suggestion.
"If you girls can wait till tomorrow," he told them, "I can have you taken north by plane. We are making a delivery at Springfield, Illinois, and St. Louis isn't much out of the way."
"That will be fine!" exclaimed Linda, gratefully. "Because we both have grown to hate trains. They crawl so."
"Worms instead of birds," remarked Nancy, thinking of the dangerous mistake they had made the previous day.
"Besides," added Linda, "we will get there so much more quickly, even though we had thought something of taking a sleeper."
"O.K. Then I will introduce you to your pilot, and you can make your arrangements." He turned to a mechanic who was standing by. "Joe, get Miss Mason to come over here." Then, to the girls he explained, "Your pilot happens to be a young lady—one of our saleswomen."
Nancy and Linda both smiled rather proudly. It was nice to find that women were everywhere taking their places in aviation.
The false name was misleading; Linda had not a suspicion that "MissMason" was Bess Hulbert, although she remembered later that the girl had masqueraded in Plattsburg as "Anna Smith." But the moment the girl came toward them, Linda recognized her, and had the satisfaction at least of seeing her turn deathly pale.
Noticing Linda's gasp of astonishment, Nancy turned to her questioningly.
"It's Bess Hulbert!" she whispered, hoarsely.
"What's that?" demanded the president of the corporation.
"Nothing," answered Linda. "Only—Mr. Harris—we—we've changed our minds about flying back to St. Louis. We'll go by train."
"But why?" demanded the man, as Miss Hulbert came nearer. "Pardon me, but is it something personal? You know Miss Mason, perhaps?"
"To Miss Carlton's sorrow!" was Nancy's quick and bitter retort. "I think you had better hear all about the kind of woman you have in your employ!"
"No! No!" protested Bess Hulbert, who was now near enough to hear the slur, and who appeared desperately frightened. "Give me a chanceto talk to Miss Carlton alone. I don't know this other person!"
At a loss to know what to say, the man looked helplessly at Linda.
"No. Perhaps we had better go," decided Linda.
"Please give me a chance!" begged Bess. "Ten minutes—alone." She looked imploringly at Mr. Harris, who nodded immediately, and started towards the building.
Bess reached for Linda's arm, and clung to it desperately, as a beggar might appeal for alms.
"I know what you think of me," she said. "But I'm so sorry, so frightfully sorry! Won't you have mercy on me—let bygones be bygones, if I give you my word of honor I've reformed?"
Receiving no reply, she continued excitedly: "It's true that I tried to snatch your father's business, but oh, I was desperate! If you could know what it is to be poor—to have an ambition to fly, and not be able to fulfill it! Oh, Miss Carlton, you ought to understand what the longing is! Suppose you didn't have a father to buy you a plane! Remember, I had to fly an old Jenny from the Army, while you pilotedan Arrow Sport!"
"But you wrecked my Arrow," Linda reminded her.
"Yes. In a fit of jealousy. I'm sorry. Oh, please believe that I am truly sorry now! And if you let me go ahead without showing me up, and if I can win that prize for the flight to Paris, I'll buy you a new plane. Honest I will! I'll give you a written promise!"
"But why should I make it possible for you to win the prize, when Miss Haydock and I want to win it ourselves?" countered Linda.
"To be sporting! Oh, won't you please! You see, I now owe Kitty Clavering ten thousand dollars, and I can never repay her unless I win. I've got a job here, but it would take me years to save that much.... If you throw me into prison, I'll never get out of debt. It will ruin my life."
"Didn't you try to ruin Linda's life?" put in Nancy.