CHAPTER XV
In the little valley by Westcott’s, Pen stood waiting and staring upward. At last she heard the sharp sound of an engine and saw the plane describing a sweeping circle. It came gently down, the little wheels rolling along the grass.
“I’m in debt to Hebler,” said Larry. “It was only your fear of him that overcame your fear of flying.”
Then looking at her, he continued, confidingly, “I wouldn’t take up the average girl, Pen, and especially one who owned up to being afraid. But I know you. You’ll forget fear in the thrills. All you’ve got to do is to sit still, hold on and look out on the level. We won’t do any swivels; just straight stuff, and you’ll be as safe as you would any place.”
She put on the hood and goggles and was adjusted to the seat.
“Now where do you want to go?” he asked.
“Anywhere to lose myself. Hebby is in town and so—are others. Let us take the opposite direction and you can land me at some place where the east-bound stops and I can get some more luggage. Then we’ll make plans.”
“Suits me. First thing we’ll do is to have a grand flight. Then I’ll leave you at a nice, little, sky-high inn I know up in the clouds. I’ll fly back to town, pay my bill, pack my traps and join you by train.”
He started the engine. The plane skipped along for a few paces, then arose, it seemed to Pen, to great and dizzy heights. In spite of her instructions she ventured to look down. Everything earthly was disappearing. They dodged the clouds, went above them and then slid down to the splendors of the sunlight. Over the hills at full speed they swept along, Larry’s air-wise, lightning-swift sensibilities making naught of change of currents and drafts. Then came the joy and thrill of a sixty-mile straightaway spurt.
It was wonderful, but the most wonderful part of it to Pen was that she had not even a second of fear, although always this thought of being shot up suddenly straight into an unknown realm had been most terrifying.