Chapter XV
Plans for the Ocean Flight
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't accept 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 her in 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 on with 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-horsepower engine, 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 other things, 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 to write 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, I believe."
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 the money… 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.
Chapter XVI
The Autogiro
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 a dance 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 thing like 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 ordinary propeller, 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 students in 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 will be 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… There isn'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.