I turned and got to work on it—and how I began to work!
Somethin’ that happened behind me sounded a whole lot like a kiss.
“So!” said Jane Alton. “You think, do you, Ned Knight, that you’re goin’ to win me in a race as though I was a kewpie doll on a rack?”
“Why—”
“And if you don’t win the race, you won’t ask me to marry you at all?”
“Well, gosh!”
“Young man,” said Jane in her most business-like manner, “I have somethin’ to say to you—in private!”
She tugged him out of the hangar. Beyond the doors I could hear ’em whisperin’. Then they moved away, and I didn’t see either of ’em again that day—because I wasn’t lookin’ at anythin’ but that plane.
I worked on her like a maniac. I forgot lunch and dinner and kept workin’ on her till my arms were about ready to drop off. I wouldn’t let anybody else touch her. I tested her everywhere, tuned her to the prettiest pitch she could give, tightened her everywhere she would tighten. There wasn’t any dingus on that plane that I overlooked. When I called a halt it was after midnight.
Then I put blankets beside her, and tried to go to sleep; but I couldn’t sleep. I had to get up and look her over again. Every half hour after that I was up, to make sure I’d tested somethin’ that I thought I might have overlooked. I couldn’t stay away from that plane. Too much was dependin’ on it and the shape it was in.