_Chapter V_
TROUBLE
After releasing the rectractible wheel landing gear, which turned thebig amphibian from a seaplane into one which could land on terra firma,Bill brought his big bus gently down to the ten acre lot behind theBolton residence.
As the plane rolled forward on its rubber tired wheels and came to astop, two men came walking in its direction from the trees at the edgeof the field.
"Here come our respective fathers--" announced Bill, stripping off hisheadgear. "Remember--I take all responsibility for bringing you back inthe plane."
"You--do nothing of the kind!" Dorothy's tone was final. She handed himher head-phone and running back through the cabin, vaulted the lowbulwark to the ground.
Bill hurriedly made things secure in the cockpit and followed her.
"And so you see, Dad," he heard her say, as he approached where theystood, "Bill not only saved my life--he took all kinds of chances withhis own, flying in a gale like that. And--oh! I forgot to tell you thathe warned me _not_ to go out in the _Scud_ this afternoon!" she endedwith a mischievous look toward Bill.
Mr. Dixon was a tall man, whose tanned, rugged features and searchinggaze suggested the sportsman. He turned from his excited daughter, witha smile and an outstretched hand.
"I'm beginning to realize, young man, that I owe you an apology for myshortness over the phone. Judging from Dorothy's story, I can never hopeto express my gratitude for what you've done today."
Bill mumbled an embarrassed platitude as he shook hands, and was gladwhen Mr. Bolton broke into the conversation.
"The Boltons, father and son, were probably born to be hung," hechuckled. "It's a family trait, to fall into scrapes--and so far, to getout of them just as quickly. Now, as nobody has been polite enough tointroduce 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 ahousewarming, in the form of a scrap dinner at the hero's home--what sayyou?"
"But I thought you were coming to our house--" cried Dorothy. "I--"
"But me no buts, young lady. Your father has already accepted for youboth 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 tocome; that is, if the _hero_ is willing!"
"Say, do you think that's fair!" Bill's face was red. He didn't thinkmuch of that kind of kidding. "I think it would be great, that is, ifyou mean me," he ended in confusion.
Amid the general laughter that followed, Dorothy uttered a cry ofdisgust. "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'scabin.
"You look charming--" Mr. Bolton bowed, and Dorothy blushed. "However--"
"Make it snappy, then, dear." Mr. Dixon drew out his watch. "You havejust 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 disappearedamong the orchard trees. "I want to show Mr. Dixon over it, and thatwill give you time for a slicking-up before dinner."
It was a jolly, though belated meal that was eventually served to themin 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 seaand air that fascinated the New England high school girl. It all seemedunreal to her, sitting in the soft light of the candles. Yet the Boltonsmade light of hairbreadth escapes in the world's unmapped areas--just asif these strange adventures were daily occurrences in their lives, shethought.
"It certainly is a shame!" she burst out suddenly. Coffee had beenserved and they had moved to the comfort of low wicker chairs on theterrace. The air was filled with the perfume of June roses.
"What's a shame?" Bill, now spick and span in white flannels, settledback in his chair.
"Why, all the wonderful times you and Mr. Bolton have had--while Dad andI were sticking around in New Canaan. I'd love to be an adventurer," shefinished.
"I dare say you'd find it mighty uncomfortable at times," observed herfather. "How about it, Bolton?"
"Like everything else, it has its drawbacks and becomes more or less ofa grind when one 'adventures' day in and day out--" that gentlemanadmitted. "I'm only too glad to be able to settle down in this beautifulridge country for a few months--to rest and be quiet."
"There you are, Dorothy." Her father smiled in the darkness. "And whowould there be out in the wilds to admire that smart frock you'rewearing, for instance?"
"Gee, Dad! You know I don't care half as much about clothes as lots ofthe girls--and that hasn't anything to do with it, anyway."
"I think we ought to break the news to her," suggested Bill, a whiteblur in the depths of his chair.
Dorothy sat up eagerly. "What news?"
"But perhaps we'd better wait until tomorrow. Tonight, she wants tobecome an explorer--and give away all her best dresses. She might nottake kindly to it." This from Mr. Dixon, between puffs of aromatic cigarsmoke.
"You're horrid--both of you. Don't you think it's mean of them to makesuch a mystery of whatever they're talking about, Mr. Bolton? Won't youtell 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 withlaughter.
"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 youreally let me, Dad?" she cried in delight.
"Mr. Bolton says that Bill is an A-1 instructor--and he claims thatflying 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 mycigar--"
"Have another," suggested Mr. Bolton. "I'd willingly ruin boxes ofcigars if I had a daughter who'd hug me that way!"
"Aren't you nice!" She turned about and bestowed a second affectionateembrace on that gentleman. "That is because you aren't quite as mean asyour son--he's the limit!"
"Never slang your instructor," sang out Bill. "That's one of the firstrules of the air."
"Seriously, Dorothy," her father interposed. "This is a bigresponsibility Bill is taking--and I want your word that you'll do justas 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 thatthe 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 yourflight 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 planeand--"
"I shall pay for it," said her father grimly. "Nothing doing. When youhave won your wings--well--we shall see. Until then, you and Bill willhave 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 Navytraining plane, down at the shipyard near the beach club, that will donicely. I was down there this afternoon having her pontoon removed. Iwant to equip her with landing gear so I can house her up here. TheAmphibian 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 whilethat 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 tohustle down there just as soon as possible."
"This way!" called Bill, springing down the steps to the garden. "Mycar's out here--come on!"
"That young chap can keep his head," thought Mr. Dixon as he ran besidehis daughter and Mr. Bolton. "It would take a lot to fluster him."
Then they came upon him, backing slowly up the drive, both doorsswinging wide so they could jump in the car without his stopping.
"Which bank, Mr. Dixon?"
Bill had the car in the road now and was racing toward the village.
"First National--Main Street, next the Town Hall. I'm president, youknow."
"I didn't know. But I'm glad to hear it."
"How's that?"
"You should have a drag with the traffic cops. We are doing an evensixty now--and it would be a bad time to get a ticket."
Mr. Dixon grasped the door-handle as Bill skidded them into a cross roadwith the expertness of a racing driver. "Just get us there, that's all,"he gasped. "The chief himself phoned me. I didn't wait to heardetails--but from what I gathered, the hold up men got clean away beforethe police discovered the robbery. But time is always a factor in a caseof this kind, so don't worry about traffic rules."
"I won't," said Bill and fed his powerful engine still more gas.
Along the straight stretch of Oenoke Avenue they sped, with Bill's footstill pressing the accelerator. They flashed past the white blur of theEpiscopal Church and on down the hill into Main Street and the littletown.
The car's brakes screamed and Bill brought them to a stop on the edge ofthe crowd of pedestrians and vehicles that blocked further progress.
"D'you want us to wait here?" asked Mr. Bolton.
"No--come along," returned his friend, jumping to the sidewalk. "We'lllearn the worst together."
Dorothy Dixon Wins Her Wings Page 5
