An hour later Andy turned to Blatz.
“Ever handled a ship like this?” he asked.
“I’ve done a little flying,” admitted the European.
“Think you could handle it?”
Blatz nodded eagerly and Andy slipped out from behind the controls which the other took over.
Andy watched him keenly and noticed that Blatz settled into his chair like a veteran. His touch on the controls was firm but light and, unlike the beginner, he did not over-control.
The air over the mountains was rougher and Andy wondered how Blatz would come through. His question was soon answered. A down draft swirled them downward three hundred feet in the twinkling of an eye. A novice would have been panic-stricken, but Blatz gave her the gun and flipped out of it nicely.
“Good work,” said Andy.
“More luck than anything else,” was the reply, but Andy was very much inclined to disagree. There was no question in his mind now. Blatz was not only a good dirigible man but he was an expert flyer as well. The long-allayed suspicions Andy had harbored in the first weeks the civilian observer had been at Bellevue were re-awakened. He would communicate his distrust to Bert and Harry when they had a chance to talk alone. Until now he had kept his misgivings to himself but he felt that it was time the others knew how he felt.
They lunched over eastern Pennsylvania with the plane clipping the miles off at 110 an hour. Sandwiches had been brought in a liberal supply but the cool air had whetted their appetites and the basket of lunch soon disappeared.