“Nonsense, boy, that’s a silly way of looking at things. We’re just resting up after that difficult job we pulled off, with the help of the Mounted Police, far away up in Northwest Canada.[[1]] That successful flight, and arrest, earned us a vacation, our superiors believe; which I for one have enjoyed immensely. Now I’m feeling fine, and fit for the next commission the Big Boss decides to hand out to us.”
“Hot-diggetty-dig! then I sure hopes it drifts this way right quick,” Perk eagerly observed. “I kinder guess them racketeers an’ their crowd o’ bootleggers must a got things mighty near sewed up, when the Department lets us loaf away our time out here on the Gold Coast. If it keeps on we’ll be apt to forget heow to handle a ship, an’ get air shy—neow wouldn’t that same be a tough joke on us poor guys?”
“Little danger of such a thing coming to pass, Perk—it’s a whole bit like swimming—once you learn how to keep afloat it’s good for a life-time.”
“Mebbe so, Jack—I got a hunch it’s the same way with ridin’ a bike used to be—first few days yeou felt stiff in all yeour joints, ev’rything out o’ kelter; but when a chump got used to guidin’ the skittish wheel along it came as easy as fallin’ off a log. Honest Injun, neow, Jack, ain’t yeou any idea when we’re apt to grab an order to get goin’ again?”
“Any old day I’m looking for the same, Perk.”
“Gosh! that don’t strike me as givin’ much encouragement, partner,” Perk told his mate, aggrievedly.
“I wrote in ten days ago,” Jack went on to say, quietly, “to say our ship was in first-class condition, while we were on deck, waiting for orders.”
“Bully for yeou!” snapped Perk, brightening up visibly, as though, like a war horse at the scent of burnt powder making his nostrils quiver with anticipation. “I’m right neow yearnin’ to set eyes on a different landscape than sleepy ol’ San Diego, an’ slow towns borderin’ on the same.”
Perk only stated a truth when he referred to his adventurous life. He was considerably older than his running mate, having been over in France when only eighteen years of age, handling a sausage balloon on the fighting line, and running into numerous close corners, having been shot down at least twice.
After the war was over he came home, and started learning the ropes of the new craze—flying; becoming a very good pilot in time, though a bit reckless, it must be admitted.