“Go on. Doesn’t a flying suit look like a step-in or a union suit?” Bob grinned as he led his mother into the house. The chore-boy took charge of the prancing team so Jim and his father followed.
“We have been lucky that the boys have not had an accident before, Mother, and really the danger, no matter what happens, isn’t very great when they have first-class chutes ready at a moment’s notice to land them safely. They both know enough to jump and keep out of difficulty,” Mr. Austin remarked quietly.
“To be sure, and me trusty side-kick was on the job with the elongated feet to bring me over the snow in fine style,” Bob laughed. They were in the living room now, both of them peeled down to ordinary clothes, and stood before her, a pair of fine looking tow-heads.
“What started the fire?” Mrs. Austin was not to be put off.
“As your devoted step-son so aptly puts it, you may investigate both of us, but I expect it was an exposed wire somewhere,” Bob answered, casually.
“Did you look to see?” she persisted.
“We did, but Her Highness was too hot to do much examining, and my breadbasket too empty for me to want to linger so far away from the commissary department, namely, the eats—is dinner almost ready?”
“It’ll be served in a few minutes. You hurry and get cleaned,” she urged, for the present need made her forget the past danger, which was exactly what her son was endeavoring to achieve.
During the evening meal the subject of the wrecked plane was studiously avoided but not because the boys did not feel the loss of Her Highness very deeply. Through their minds flashed snatches of memory that made it mighty difficult to laugh and joke with Mrs. Austin, but they kept the pretense up courageously. However, later that evening Jim and his father were in the ranchman’s office alone for a few minutes, then the boy’s shoulders slumped as he stared through the window toward the starry sky.
“It’s too bad, old chap,” Dad remarked thoughtfully. “Any idea how it happened? I don’t like to say much before Bob’s mother.”