Me, I couldn’t ’ve held out half that long against Jane Alton. I was plenty crazy about that girl, but bein’ only a grease-monkey, and havin’ a map resemblin’ a mauled-up bulldog’s, I confined myself to bein’ just her slave. Ned Knight, however, being the best flyer in the state, and the handsomest in six, got a lot of time from her. I suspected maybe that there was some kind of romance goin’ on there, between the flyer and the daughter of the plant owner, ’cause they flew a lot together, those two.
So, with Ned back in the rear pit, Jane climbed into the front one, settled to the controls, jazzed the motor, and waved one tiny gloved hand to me. I socked the blocks; she stepped on the gas; and the Alton was off. It trundled to the other edge of the sand, and Jane pulled it up neatly; she circled twice, got herself a nice lot of altitude, rode a few air waves in sheer joy, and then deadheaded across the blue.
Now and then she cut the motor. Say, there wasn’t any tellin’ what went on between them two, all alone up there, so close to Heaven! I know they didn’t exactly dislike the open solitude of that sky! I remember once, when Jane hopped out of the Alton, after a spell of hootin’ with Ned, she said to him: “I love to be all alone with you up there!” And Ned was never quite the same when he came down from a flit with Jane, anyhow!
Well, while the Alton was banking and skimming at about a thousand, Robert Bennett Alton himself came out onto the field. He was owner of the field, and of the factory where the Altons were made. He was manufacturing a sturdy, speedy, almost foolproof plane that was just about the ultimate in aviation on a small scale. A man dissatisfied with anything short of perfection—that was Alton. And a fine man, in and out from the heart. He stood beside me, watching his little moth weave across the sky.
“What a ship!” I said. “What a joy of a ship!”
“It seems to handle well, Benny,” was all Alton said. “What—what’s that?”
Starin’, I went cold. From the front of the plane some black smoke spouted out; and then came the flashin’ of fire. Fire it was! The nose of that plane was bein’ licked by the flames leapin’ back from the engine. One second it had been all o. k., and the next it was pushin’ a bonfire through the sky! If the fire reached the gasoline lines and the tank—if it kindled the linen—it meant disaster! And I, myself, I had inspected that ship to make sure it was o. k. All but passin’ out, I continued to stare, and Mr. Alton got as white as the clouds.
“Benny, who’s pilotin’ that ship?”
“Jane!”
“What!”