“Five minutes after two,” he said, “and I suppose we’re about twenty miles from the island. All aboard for Anclote—due there at two thirty-four.”
The hard roadway gave the Anclote an easier start than the softer ground in the factory yard. With hardly a wobble, the aeroplane took to the air again. Fragrant fruit orchards and picturesque stretches of hummock land rolled along beneath the flying car. Before half past two, thickening dwellings indicated a new town, and, with the white-topped breakers of the distant ocean in sight to the west, the swiftly flying machine passed over the city of Tarpon Springs. Instantly, Bob brought the airship on a new course to the west and pointed for the red flash light on Greater Anclote.
When the lighthouse fell beneath the young aviators, there was another turn to the north. The blue waters of the gulf on the left and the gray-brown shimmer of the shoals between the keys and the distant beach on the right were ample guarantees of happy vacation days at hand.
“There she is,” exclaimed Tom, at last, as Mac’s flag came suddenly into sight. At the extreme northern end of the group, Captain Joe’s selection had been reached. With a long, curving sweep to the right, Bob dropped lower and lower over the water, and, at two forty-five P. M., the aeroplane entered into a little bay, shaped its course parallel with the flat, hard beach and sank on its landing wheels as if alighting on a mattress.
When Bob drew his benumbed limbs from the landed car, he threw himself flat on the warm beach and closed his eyes with a tired but happy smile.
“Well, we did it, Tom,” he said slowly. “Are you satisfied?”
“Satisfied?” repeated Tom. “Wait till I get my chance—I’ll show you.”
“You can try any time you like,” laughed Bob. “The machine belongs to all of us. I’ve had my fling. You can take Hal up and show him the way to do it, and then he can take Mac.”
“How about Jerry Blossom?” said Tom grinning.