“There are some black clouds over south and west and they sure do look as if they are in a hurry. We’ll have them on our tail as we go back. Got plenty of gas? I read that in some places Lake Champlain is three hundred feet deep, and it’s wet clear to the bottom,” said Bob.
“There’s an extra tank besides what is in the bus. Guess I’ll feed her up. Somehow, I think a nice Texas desert is pleasanter to land on than water.” Jim busied himself with the task and Bob helped look things over.
“Why don’t you go back above the shore?” he suggested.
“We have to land on the cove when we get home, so why switch gears. If there’s time this evening, we might locate a place to land on the farm, but we’ll have to ask your uncle about that or we’ll be coming down on some field he’s planted.”
“O.K. with me.”
“Whoooo boys,” Mr. Fenton shouted from the pier where he was standing with a group of men and an army of small boys who had come to see the take off.
“An audience. Do your prettiest, Your Highness,” Bob urged the plane as his step-brother brought it around in fancy style.
“It isn’t every farmer who has a couple of pilots to bring him to town in a private plane, free of charge,” one of the men joked.
“Certainly looks like the farmers are getting some relief,” another added. “They are going up in the air about it.”
“It’s time we did something,” Mr. Fenton responded. “Shall I get in now, Jim?”