Dorothy Dixon Wins Her Wings. Wayne Dorothy

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СКАЧАТЬ family trait, to fall into scrapes-and so far, to get out of them just as quickly. Now, as nobody has been polite enough to introduce me to the heroine of this meeting-I'm the hero's fond parent, Miss Dorothy. We are about to celebrate this festive occasion by a housewarming, in the form of a scrap dinner at the hero's home-what say you?"

      "But I thought you were coming to our house-" cried Dorothy. "I-"

      "But me no buts, young lady. Your father has already accepted for you both and we simply can't take no for an answer."

      Dorothy glanced at Bill, who stood rather sheepishly in the background. Then she laughed. "Why, of course, if you put it that way-I'd love to come; that is, if the hero is willing!"

      "Say, do you think that's fair!" Bill's face was red. He didn't think much of that kind of kidding. "I think it would be great, that is, if you mean me," he ended in confusion.

      Amid the general laughter that followed, Dorothy uttered a cry of disgust. "But I can't come like this-" she pointed to her clothes, which were the things that Bill had laid out for her in the big plane's cabin.

      "You look charming-" Mr. Bolton bowed, and Dorothy blushed. "However-"

      "Make it snappy, then, dear." Mr. Dixon drew out his watch. "You have just fifteen minutes. And Mr. Bolton won't keep dinner waiting for you, if he's as famished as I am!"

      "Oh, give me twenty!" she pleaded.

      "All right-hurry, now!"

      With a wave of her hand, Dorothy darted away.

      "I'll look after the plane, Bill," said his father, as she disappeared among the orchard trees. "I want to show Mr. Dixon over it, and that will give you time for a slicking-up before dinner."

      It was a jolly, though belated meal that was eventually served to them in the cool, green dining room of the Bolton's summer home that evening. Mr. Dixon, with the finesse of an astute business man, drew out Mr. Bolton and his son, and the two told tales of adventure by land and sea and air that fascinated the New England high school girl. It all seemed unreal to her, sitting in the soft light of the candles. Yet the Boltons made light of hairbreadth escapes in the world's unmapped areas-just as if these strange adventures were daily occurrences in their lives, she thought.

      "It certainly is a shame!" she burst out suddenly. Coffee had been served and they had moved to the comfort of low wicker chairs on the terrace. The air was filled with the perfume of June roses.

      "What's a shame?" Bill, now spick and span in white flannels, settled back in his chair.

      "Why, all the wonderful times you and Mr. Bolton have had-while Dad and I were sticking around in New Canaan. I'd love to be an adventurer," she finished.

      "I dare say you'd find it mighty uncomfortable at times," observed her father. "How about it, Bolton?"

      "Like everything else, it has its drawbacks and becomes more or less of a grind when one 'adventures' day in and day out-" that gentleman admitted. "I'm only too glad to be able to settle down in this beautiful ridge country for a few months-to rest and be quiet."

      "There you are, Dorothy." Her father smiled in the darkness. "And who would there be out in the wilds to admire that smart frock you're wearing, for instance?"

      "Gee, Dad! You know I don't care half as much about clothes as lots of the girls-and that hasn't anything to do with it, anyway."

      "I think we ought to break the news to her," suggested Bill, a white blur in the depths of his chair.

      Dorothy sat up eagerly. "What news?"

      "But perhaps we'd better wait until tomorrow. Tonight, she wants to become an explorer-and give away all her best dresses. She might not take kindly to it." This from Mr. Dixon, between puffs of aromatic cigar smoke.

      "You're horrid-both of you. Don't you think it's mean of them to make such a mystery of whatever they're talking about, Mr. Bolton? Won't you tell me?"

      "Of course, I will, my dear. What do you want to know?"

      Dorothy choked with vexation. "Oh!"

      "Let's tell her now-right now-" said Bill, his voice brimming with laughter.

      "I don't want to hear."

      "Yes, you do-all together: one-two-three! You-are-going-to-learn-to-fly!"

      Dorothy sprang to her father's chair and caught his arm. "Will you really let me, Dad?" she cried in delight.

      "Mr. Bolton says that Bill is an A-1 instructor-and he claims that flying is no more dangerous than sailing twenty-footers in a nor'easter, so I suppose-"

      "Oh-you darling!" Dorothy flung her arms about his neck.

      "Here-here-" cried Mr. Dixon. "You're ruining my collar, and my cigar-"

      "Have another," suggested Mr. Bolton. "I'd willingly ruin boxes of cigars if I had a daughter who'd hug me that way!"

      "Aren't you nice!" She turned about and bestowed a second affectionate embrace on that gentleman. "That is because you aren't quite as mean as your son-he's the limit!"

      "Never slang your instructor," sang out Bill. "That's one of the first rules of the air."

      "Seriously, Dorothy," her father interposed. "This is a big responsibility Bill is taking-and I want your word that you'll do just as he says. No more running off and smashing up a plane as you did the Scud this afternoon!"

      "All right, Dad. I promise. But what am I to learn in? Bill says that the Amphibian is too heavy-and she's not equipped with dual controls."

      Mr. Dixon lit a fresh cigar. "I see that you've already started your flight training."

      "Bill explained the procedure to me on our way up here this afternoon. But what are we going to do for a plane?"

      "Bill has some scheme, I believe."

      "Oh, I know," she decided. "Bill shall pick me out a nice little plane and-"

      "I shall pay for it," said her father grimly. "Nothing doing. When you have won your wings-well-we shall see. Until then, you and Bill will have to figure without financial help from your fond parent."

      "That's fair enough," agreed Mr. Bolton.

      "O.K. with me, too," echoed Bill. "I happen to have an old N-9, a Navy training plane, down at the shipyard near the beach club, that will do nicely. I was down there this afternoon having her pontoon removed. I want to equip her with landing gear so I can house her up here. The Amphibian uses up too much gas to go joy-hopping in."

      A maid appeared on the doorstep.

      "Mr. Dixon wanted on the phone, please," she announced, and waited while that gentleman preceded her into the house.

      A moment later Mr. Dixon was back on the terrace.

      "The bank's been robbed!" he cried. "Sorry, gentlemen, but I've got to hustle down there just as soon as possible."

      "This way!" called Bill, springing down the steps to the garden. "My car's out here-come on!"

      "That young chap can keep his head," thought Mr. Dixon as he ran beside his daughter and СКАЧАТЬ