"But I'm not in the least tired. Can't I go up now?"
Bill looked at her and shook his head. "Nothing doing," he said with pretended sternness. "That is--not for the next fifteen minutes. Here comes Frank with something cold to drink on his tray--horse's neck, probably. There's nothing like iced ginger ale with a string of lemon peel in it when you're real thirsty!"
"My, you're thoughtful!"
"Don't thank me--it's all Frank's idea."
They sipped their drinks in the shade of the old barn that had been turned into a hangar for the Bolton's planes.
"While you're resting, I want you to study this paper, Dorothy. It's a routine I want you to follow in preparing for every flight you take--with me, or soloing," he explained, handing it over. "When you've got it by heart, repeat it to me and then we'll carry on. Your first job for the next hop will be to do exactly what I've written there."
For perhaps ten minutes both were silent and Bill closed his eyes and turned over on his back.
"Asleep?" asked Dorothy presently.
"No--just relaxing. Got that dope down pat?"
"Sure. I mean, yes, instructor."