The “Lark” soared so high and swiftly over Cuba that it would have taken a racer to have caught even a second glimpse of her, and although it made the trip less simple both boys were glad that the thick atmosphere was not dispelled south of the island. Caldwell grimly made his calculations for their course and Austin checked up on them.
“Methinks this flight is not going to be all baby talk, Buddy,” Jim announced.
“Bet my new shirt against a set of red flannels that we hit some hot spots that won’t be all Peruvian weather,” Bob added.
“Wish we didn’t have to stop this side of Belize, but I reckon we better. We’re not doing a Lindbergh.” Just then the light flashed and Jim took up the speaking tube. “Are you there!”
“Certainly. I observe we are leaving Havana in our rear.”
“That’s good, we reared right over it and lost the reception committee, if one was out looking for us.”
“It’s pretty foggy, my boy.”
“We don’t need to worry about that because we don’t have to come down. We’ll probably hit some breaks in it before sunset. How do you like the trip? I forgot to suggest that you bring anything to read,” Jim laughed, and his father chuckled.
“Mother was more thoughtful. She put in a couple of books—mystery stories, and I have read half of one of them,” Mr. Austin answered.
“Great stuff. Maybe we can get some ideas. Got everything you need so that you can eat when the spirit moves?”