“Okay, Jack. Sounds mighty good to me, you bet. I’d never a cudgeled my brains enough to hatch up an idea like that; takes you to think o’ clever dodges, old hoss.”
“Then we’ll consider it settled, eh, Perk?”
“Just what we will,” came the confident reply. “’Bout when ought we raise the last beacon on the road to Angeles, an’ lamp the field lights at that same Metropolitan Airport?”
“Oh! if everything goes well, you might call it along toward midnight,” Jack assured him.
“Got aplenty o’ gas to carry on that far, I’d guess?” hazarded Perk.
“It’s to be hoped so,” said Jack; “because there’s some mighty tough stretches of country between the Colorado and the big Pacific city.”
“Yeah! so I understand, Jack.”
“And it would be a bad job for us if we had to hit the ground where you couldn’t scrape up a decent landing place with a fine-tooth comb. When I take the stick again, Perk, maybe you’d better have a look in, so’s to get tabs on our fuel tank, and tell me how it stands. From the dial finger yonder I figure we’ll have a lot more than enough to see us through.”
“That’s right, boss,” affirmed Perk, after casting a hasty glance at the tell-tale figures so plainly marked.
“That settles it then,” with which remark Jack showed by his actions that further conversation was needless.