He had already called out to Roy to come down, and the car, with power shut off, was fluttering to the ground, some yards away.
The two men advanced to the landed machine.
Roy, his sober face showing just a little flush of pride in his first real flight, was attempting to look unconcerned as Mr. Atkinson came up to him and patted him on the back.
“Very well done, my boy,” exclaimed the manager. “Didn’t frighten you, did it?”
“I was only worried about that string,” answered Roy. “It kept snappin’ like the tail of a kite.”
The workmen were already moving the car to the shed, and Mr. Osborne was following them, when the manager called him back.
“Osborne,” he said, laying a hand on Roy’s shoulder, “are you really willing for your boy to turn professional aviator?”
“Seems to have made a pretty good start already,” was the non-committal answer.
“That’ll be all right,” broke in Roy, with a smile. “He’ll be willing. At least, he says it isn’t any more dangerous than runnin’ an automobile. May I have a job, Mr. Atkinson?”