“Those were orders,” he told her. She climbed to her own place, and when at last all was as it should be, she nodded to him, and he gave them a start, not that he needed to, for Nike was a self starter in every way; perfectly capable of taking off without assistance. The chap stood watching the plane with keen admiration, and when she lifted, Roberta waved him a farewell.
Quickly they climbed to three thousand feet, then Mrs. Pollzoff signaled that it was high enough. She picked up the speaking tube and Roberta listened, for the woman never gave her directions until they were started.
“Turn in a half circle, then go straight northwest until I tell you to change the course or come down,” she said. Nike promptly did the turn and then leveled off, her nose pointing the route indicated. Roberta was surprised, for they were going inland instead of over the water as usual. Glancing at her chart she reckoned that the course would take her across the United States into the southwestern part of Canada, provided they continued long enough. Mrs. Pollzoff sat watching the control board for a few minutes, then proceeded to produce another book and buried herself in its pages.
“I believe that her saying she is carrying on some work started by her husband is just so much bologna. We haven’t done a blooming thing since we started—except fly—and she certainly isn’t accomplishing anything while she’s reading a mystery story. That’s that. And I’m dropping out of the business at the next stop—that is more of that,” was the girl’s mental resolve, and she set her lips in a firm line to emphasize her resolution.
They had been in the air less than ten minutes, when suddenly, out of the sky to the right, and higher than Nike was flying, swept a shining new plane, its wings waggling furiously. Roberta’s heart gave a great leap, and she responded, but not quite so vigorously as Powell. His plane swooped down across her path and as it flashed by she could see that he was not alone. Whoever was in the cock-pit with him waved a gloved hand, and Roberta replied to that also. Not changing her course by a hair, Nike roared steadily on, the other plane circled about her once, then with a final waggle, zoomed up, spiraled, and then turned back. The girl Sky-Pilot smiled as her friends disappeared, then she happened to look into the mirror and saw that Mrs. Pollzoff had been watching the performance with an interest which was none too kindly.
“Who are they?” she snapped.
“Robert Powell and his sister,” Roberta told her. “The people I met last night.” They were using the telephone.
“How do they happen to be here when we start?” For an instant Roberta was going to tell her the truth, that she had sent word she was leaving and Powell had come to see her off, but his warning to “watch her step” flashed through her mind.
“I do not know how they happen to be around,” she answered, which was true enough. “Guess he saw the plane go up and came over to say goodbye in case it was Nike.” There was a peculiarly hard look in Mrs. Pollzoff’s eyes during the explanation, and she looked steadily at her pilot for several seconds, then dropped her eyes back to her book.