There were few people on the road, and he had gone perhaps half a mile before anyone overtook him. The first car whizzed by, but another, coming along soon after, pulled up beside him and the man leaned out and called:
“Want a ride, Bub? How far are you going?”
Kiwi was not sure that he ought to get into this stranger’s car; but the man, dressed in dark clothes, a blue shirt and a cap with a shiny peak, seemed thoroughly friendly. So he hopped in. The car started off with a clatter and rattle as Kiwi said that he was going over to the flying field.
“That’s right on my way,” the man said. “I’m just going over to take out the 4:59.”
“Are you a flyer?” Kiwi asked.
“Well, not exactly. As a matter of fact I’m a fireman on the Long Island railroad. But I see lots of these flyers as my train passes by the field. One of these days I’m going to get one of them to take me up.”
“I’ve been up lots of times,” Kiwi replied, proudly.
They chattered on, and Kiwi told the man who he was and how his father was planning a non-stop flight to India.
The fireman said, a little incredulously, “Are you going, too?”