“Delighted, I’m sure,” answered the fruit grower. “It will probably be my first and last experience with such a vehicle.”
Andy’s twinkle spread into a smile. When the Pelican had been pushed to the top of the slope and was ready for a new flight, he crawled to his seat. The white-costumed man was backing away, watching every detail. As soon as he was seated, Andy loosened the cords holding the tin of gasoline on the extra seat and asked his affable host if he would put it aside where he might get it later.
“I’d think you’d carry it with you,” suggested the stranger, as he obligingly complied.
“I would,” answered Andy, “but I want the seat. [Jump in.]”
“Me?” exclaimed the man. “On that?”
“I just crossed the gulf stream, a thousand feet up,” answered the boy.
“I—I didn’t know it would carry two,” began the man, who seemed more surprised than alarmed.
“It has,” answered the boy. “Come on.”
The surprise of the man turned instantly into open delight. He crawled into the seat, and almost before he was settled, the proud and now confident Andy had shot his pride and joy seaward, skimmed one low roller, and was mounting skyward as if the machine were elated over its extra burden.
It was not over a mile to the head of the cove and the cabin beneath the palms, but the conditions made a direct flight thither impossible. Assured of his ability to control the powerful machine, Andy sent her mounting up and up in a long spiral.