“You bet I will Jack, and I mean every word I say, too. I’ve never gone up in an airship yet, but the desire’s been gripping me a heap lately and perhaps, after I make the try tomorrow morning, that you’ve so kindly promised me, the fever’ll get so high I just won’t be able to hold back any longer.”
“That depends on how you come through your examination,” Jack plainly explained. “A lot of boys have an itch to make the riffle, but are turned down because they lack some one of a dozen requirements that are positively essential these modern days to get a pilot’s license. But as far as I can see, you ought to pass with flying colors—no joke intended either.”
They sat there chatting for several hours. Cyclone’s enthusiasm fairly bubbled over at times as he listened to some of the accounts of adventures that had befallen both Jack and Perk in days gone by.
“The more I hear from you boys the sicker I get over the way I’m wasting my young life with foolish cowboy stunts and make believe fights in the pictures. It’s pretty much a fake business and gets on my nerves—even many of the most thrilling scenes are fakes of the worst kind—pulling the wool over the eyes of the simple public. I got a notion I’m built for something that’s genuine and not a fraud—when you lads get into a mess it’s the real thing and you can put your heart in the action without a director yelling at you and ordering it all done over—sometimes as many as five times, till his royal highness is satisfied and you’re all worn to a shred with the hard work. Bah! me for the open and a life of genuine adventure, every time.”
“Je-ru-salem crickets! but you have got it bad, partner!” croaked Perk grinning happily as he spoke. “Goin’ are you, Cyclone?—well, we’ll pick you up about nine on the way to the flyin’ field. So-long—mighty glad we run across you tonight and had a chance to see how you work, them fists o’ yourn. The Service could make good use o’ a few real scrappers and I’d say the chance o’ you buttin’ in is gilt-edged.”
So closed a day that was not without its redeeming features, even Perk being satisfied that things were moving along the line of adventure and excitement.
VI
CYCLONE PROVES GAME
In the morning after they had partaken of a late breakfast, Jack and his pal stepped around the corner to get a taxi, pick up Cyclone as per arrangement and proceed out to the flying field.
“For one thing,” Perk was remarking as they stepped gaily along, “we ain’t noticed any sign o’ them gringoes we licked so neat last night. Guess they had their little tummies filled up with excitement and right now may be rubbin’ arnica on their hurts. Wow! but I’d hate to’ve got them socks Cyclone passed on to his party—must have near broke his nose for I saw his face was gettin’ fair bloody when he was snatched up and tossed into the car.”
They found the ex-fighter and cow puncher waiting anxiously for them, he having been abroad early and had his customary morning meal. Later on they arrived at the landing field and found everything “okay” as Perk put it. He had confessed to a little anxiety concerning the safety of their ship but the man they had hired to stand guard had not seen or heard anything suspicious during the entire night.