“Yesterday was your innin’, you hooters. Today is mine. I’m goin’ to fly you off the map!”
“Not in that wash-tub!” I come back.
“Hush up, Benny!” Ned nudges me. “Walker, you’re takin’ all the joy out of this race. We want to fly with real flyers, not with crooks. Depend on it, man, we don’t intend to be beaten by dirty play. And if you fly square, Walker— you’ve only primed yourself for the lickin’ of your life!”
Walker glares a killin’ look at us, and cusses us out as we pass on.
Then there’s a squeal, and Jane Alton comes rushin’ around the line of officials, followed by her Dad. She runs up to Ned and, right out in public, gives him a big kiss. She talks fast as a whirlwind, bein’ all jazzed up with excitement and hope. Her Dad just shakes us by the hand and says:
“In a few minutes you’ll be off, boys. Remember—we’re goin’ to win.”
We promise him—our hearts in our throats. That big Stormbird looks like a flyin’ devil to us and winnin’ won’t be a cinch for anybody.
Jane asks, breathless: “Ned, won’t you please take me along?”
Ned laughs. “No, Jane. It can’t be done. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, please!” she begs.