Larkin, being in a different frame of mind, shook his head.
“No, you’re too blasted poetic about it already. Besides, we have permission to fly up, not to drive. I suppose we could get the pass changed, but why fool with your luck? And the quicker we get there the more we see.”
“All right, but on a day like this I could get more pleasure out of just wandering through the countryside than in seeing all the cities of the world rolled into one. Look!” he pointed to the flying field as the car turned from the highway. “There are the Camels, 43warming up, and filling this good, clean air with their sickening fumes. Bah! I hate it!”
“Say, have you got the pip? You talk like a farmer. Snap out of it! We’re headed for Gay Paree!”
The car had rolled to a stop at the edge of the field. McGee climbed out slowly. “All right, big boy. You lead the way. And no contour chasing to-day. I’m too liable to get absent-minded and try to reach out and pick some daisies. Besides, this motor of mine has been trickier than usual in the last few days despite the fact that the Ack Emma declares she is top hole. So fly high and handsome. Know the way?”
Larkin was crawling into his flying suit and did not answer.
“Know the way?” McGee repeated.
“Sure. That’s a fine question to ask a pilot bound for Paris. We land at Le Bourget field, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“Where’d you think you’d land–in the Champs Elysees?”