“I’m afraid I’m not much of a pilot”—she smiled—“whatever you may think.”
Joey’s face wrinkled up in a grin. “Anyone who can fly is pretty big in my book.” He pointed to an area of concrete strip between the warehouse and a service hangar next door. “See that Beech sitting over there?”
A small, twin-engine Beechcraft stood on the strip. The cowling had been removed from one of her engine nacelles and a man stood on a step-ladder tinkering with the motor.
“That’s Steve Miller,” Joey said. “He’s a charter pilot here at the field, and he’s promised to teach me to fly.”
“Why, that’s wonderful!” Vicki exclaimed, her eyes twinkling with pleasure. She knew that being able to fly was the most important thing in the boy’s life.
“Steve’s the best,” Joey went on enthusiastically. “So’s Van Lasher—he’s the fellow I introduced you to just now. Gosh! Everybody around this airport is pretty swell.”
“You just naturally like everybody that has anything to do with airplanes, don’t you, Joey?”
“I sure do,” he admitted. “Say, Miss Vicki, how long did it take you to solo? Were you nervous the first time?”
Vicki smiled. “See here, young man, if we start talking flying you’ll never get back to work.”
“I guess you’re right,” the boy said, laughing. “It wouldn’t do to lose this job, now that I’m getting ready to be a fly boy for real.”