“Ah, the waiter.” The man appeared and the meal was eaten almost in silence. Twice Roberta tried to break the awkwardness of the situation, but the replies from her companion were the briefest possible, so she gave up the attempt after the second failure. She was glad when the meal was over and they returned to Nike. They took their places and several times during the return trip, the pilot saw her companion give her short quick glances.
There was something about Mrs. Pollzoff which made Roberta recall the time Phil had been employed to take an old man on regular trips to Philadelphia. Young Fisher had described his passenger as “falling to pieces,” but after a number of trips, Roberta had chanced to see the pair in the air; the ancient man pressing a pistol to the back of his pilot’s head. It wasn’t a pleasant memory, in fact it added greatly to the girl’s uneasiness, but, if her companion’s intention was evil, she gave no evidence of it. They reached the field in good time without mishap, and as soon as they were out of the cockpit, the passenger turned for an instant.
“Tomorrow I shall come at the same time.”
“Let them know at the office,” Roberta replied mechanically. Just at that moment Phil’s Moth came roaring over the field and lighted close by. He waved to Roberta, who waited for him.
“Have a wild time?”
“Wild as a plate of soup.” Roberta told him how she had spent the hours and what had been passing through her mind. They walked slowly toward the office and Phil listened thoughtfully.
“Wonder what her game is anyway? I’m going to tell Trowbridge to have some—”
“I say, Kingsley.” Someone called the president’s son, and with a nod to his companion, he strode off to see what was wanted.
Roberta proceeded, but as she went she wished she had not spoken to Phil of her nervousness. Probably it was just silly and she certainly didn’t want to be relieved of the responsibility because she was afraid. After all, there wasn’t a thing in the world to be afraid of, nothing but a collection of wild guesses. It was unlike the time the “old man” had tried to appropriate the Moth, for then the country was filled with horrible stories of “Blue Air-pirates,” but now everything was as it should be. In fact, life was a bit dull except for the unending joy of racing into the sky. By that time she reached Mr. Trowbridge’s office, but as she opened the door she heard Mr. Wallace saying angrily, “Well, I’ll be darned if I see it. Oh, oh, hello Miss Langwell.” With that he rushed out of the room and banged the door so hard that it jarred the place.
“Oh, er, oh,” Mr. Trowbridge glanced at her, then began to fumble with some papers on his desk. “Wallace is a bit upset, you’ll have to excuse him.”