"Give me a hand up, Johnny. The front seat? How perfectly ducky to ride home in an aeroplane! Oh, Johnny wants your goggles, Mr. Halliday." Mary V reached down quickly and lifted them off the irate aviator's head before he knew what she was after. "Here they are, Johnny. Sit down, and Mr. Halliday will crank up—or whatever you call it. I'll send him right back, Mr. Halliday, just as quick as ever he can make the trip!"
Mr. Halliday gave her a venomous glance, and a sneer which included them both.
"Ain't it a shame she ain't equipped with a self-starter?" he fleered. "You two look cute, settin' there; but I don't seem to see yuh making any quick getaway, at that." He spread his legs and stood arrogantly, arms folded, the sneer looking perfectly at home on his face.
"Don't be a darned boob!" Johnny snapped impatiently. "Turn 'er over. Miss Selmer wants me to pilot her home, and I'm going to tackle it. You needn't be scared, though; I'll come back."
"I don't think so," said Bland, teetering a little as he stood.
"I will, unless I bust something. And it's my machine, so I'm sure going to be right careful that nothing busts." What Johnny wanted to do was get out and lick Bland Halliday till he howled, but since the gratification of that desire was neither politic nor convenient, he promised himself a settlement later on, when Mary V was not present. Just now he must humor Bland along.
"I don't think you'll come back," Bland repeated, "because I don't think you'll start. There's a little detail to be looked after first—a little swingin' on the propeller to be done. I don't see anybody doin' it. And I never did hear of anybody flying without their motor running." He tittered malevolently.
"Cut out the comedy, bo, and let me in there. You start 'er for me, and I'll take Miss Selmer home for you. You ain't got your pilot's license yet—by a long ways. I never heard of a flyer getting his license on a thirty or forty minute course. It ain't done, bo—take it from me." He spat into the sand with an air of patient tolerance.
"Are you all ready, Johnny?" Mary V's voice was rather alarmingly sweet. "I'm not going to touch this ducky little wheel. I'm afraid I might think it was my car and do something queer. I shall let you drive—if you call it driving. Now if Mr. Halliday will crank up for us, we'll go."
"Mr. Halliday will let you set there till you get enough," Bland grinned sourly. "I'm thinking of your safety, sister. I'm thinkin' more of you than that piece of cheese in the pilot's seat."