“It’s twenty miles. We reeled it off in six and a half minutes. What’s that figure out?”
“One hundred and eighty-four miles an hour,” volunteered Roy with alacrity.
“But,” began the astounded Ned pointing to the speed indicator.
“I told you I was liftin’ her a little,” explained Alan. “Look at her now.”
Another glance showed Ned that the aeroplane had found herself. The indicator showed a speed of practically three miles a minute. The nervous young commander threw himself into Buck’s camp chair.
“I—I see,” he said at last, “but what did it? She had all you could give her when I went out.”
“Sure,” explained Alan without turning his head. “But we didn’t get any help from the breeze comin’ up the Sound. You’ve got to remember we’re gettin’ a little slant of it now. If there’s a fair breeze higher up and this ain’t fast enough for you I can go up and do better—”
“This’ll do,” answered Ned a little hysterically. “I guess you’re right,” he added soberly. “I think I’ll lie down a few minutes and try to pull myself together.”
As Ned disappeared into the state room Alan said to Roy:
“That’s the first case of ‘nerves’ I ever saw in Napier. But he’s certainly excusable to-day. That little swing of his was enough to give any one the rattles. When he comes out of that room he’ll be the boss again. Stand by for Middletown with Hartford on the port beam,” he concluded. And silence once more fell on the wind swept pilot room.