"Great, thanks. But I will say that this amphibian of yours steers more like a loaded truck in a mudhole than an honest-to-goodness plane! How are your legs?"
"Gradually getting better--pretty painful, but then I'm used to this sort of thing."
"Poor boy!" she exclaimed sympathetically, then gritted her teeth in the effort to keep their course as a huge comber crashed slightly abeam the nose.
Bill grasped the side of her seat for support. "You handled that one nicely," he approved when the wave had swept aft. "But don't bother about me--you've got your own troubles, young lady. I'll be all right in a few minutes."
"What I can't understand," said Dorothy, after a moment, "is why this plane didn't sink when you landed and picked me up. How did you keep from slewing broadside and going under?"
"Well, it was like this. When I left you on the beach, I motored back home to New Canaan. The sky was blackening even then. I was sure we were in for the storm, so after putting up the car, I went out to the hay barn in that ten acre field where we house the old bus. She needed gas, so I filled the tanks, gave her a good looking over and went back to the house and telephoned."
"You mean you phoned the beach club about me?"
"Yes. The steward said you weren't anywhere around the club, and your sloop wasn't in the inlet. It was pretty dark by then and the wind was blowing a good thirty-five knots. I made up my mind you must be in trouble. Frank ran after me on my way out to the plane--he's our chauffeur you know--"
"Yes, I know--" broke in Dorothy--"he drove you and your father to the movies last night. I saw him."
"That's right. Frank's a good scout. He wanted to come along with me, but I wouldn't let him."