As the good looking youth moved toward them with the lithe, easy grace of a trained athlete, Howard Bright saw that he had light brown hair, and blue eyes snapping with vitality and cheerfulness.
“Hello, Dorothy!” He greeted her smilingly, “better late than never, if you don’t mind my saying so. I’d just about figured you were going to pass up our date.”
“Sorry, Colonel,” she mocked. “Explanations are in order I guess, but they can wait. This is Howard Bright, Bill—Howard, Mr. Bolton!”
The two young men shook hands.
“Bolton—Dixon?” Howard’s tone was thoughtful. “Why!” he exclaimed suddenly. “You two are the flyers—the pair who won the endurance test with the Conway motor! I’m certainly glad to meet you both. The papers have been full of your doings. Well, this is a surprise! But you know, I’d got the impression that you were both older—”
“I’m sixteen,” smiled Dorothy. “Bill has me beat by a year.”
“How about lunch?” suggested Bill. He invariably changed the subject when his exploits were mentioned. People always enthused so, it embarrassed him. “You’ll join us, of course, Mr. Bright?”
“Thanks, Mr. Bolton. I really don’t think I can butt in this way—”
“There’s no butting in about it,” Dorothy interrupted. “Howard is engaged to my cousin, Janet Jordan, Bill. And Janet’s in a lot of trouble. I’ve promised we’d do everything we can to help.”
Bill, after one look at Howard’s worried face, sized up the situation instantly. “Why, of course,” he said. “And we can’t talk with any privacy in this place. I can see that whatever the trouble is, it’s serious.”