“He’s probably in training for some test or endurance flight and wants to keep his identity secret for the time being,” suggested Mr. Dixon. “There’s often a lot of hush-hush stuff about such things—that is, until the stunt comes off—and then the secretive ones become the world’s worst publicity hounds!”
Dorothy remarked the change that came to their guest’s face: the eyes narrowed, the mouth grew harder; something of his levity disappeared.
“Perhaps,” he said slowly. “But whatever his reason for wishing privacy, we can’t have club members insulted by strange aviators in our own cove. I shall take it up at the board of governors’ meeting tomorrow. In future we will see to it that no more airplanes land on club waters. Do you think you would recognize the man without his beard, Dorothy?”
“I don’t think so—but Terry, who was nearer to him, swears he could spot him anywhere.”
“If he should do so, ask him to report the matter to me, and I’ll see that the man at least offers apology.”
“Thank you, Mr. Holloway.” Dorothy was pleased at this interest. “I’ll tell him.”
“You three had better leave well enough alone,” her father declared bluntly. “The plane is probably being flown over a set course which happens to take it over the club. That aviator seems to be a surly customer. My advice is to forget it....”
Dorothy pushed her chair back from the table.
“You’ll excuse me, won’t you?” she smiled. “I’ve got to run, now.” She went to her father and kissed him. “Please don’t be late, Daddy. I come on the first time right after the curtain rises—it will spoil my evening if you two aren’t there!”
Mr. Holloway’s kindly eyes twinkled behind his glasses.