“He should be here now,” rejoined Roy. “I’ve half a mind to start anyhow. I can manage the machine I am very certain.”
“Oh, Roy!” cried Peggy, reprovingly, “you know you promised aunty that you wouldn’t do anything till Mr. Hal Homer got here.”
“All right, sis,” put in Roy, hastily, “don’t be scared. I’ll stick to my word.”
“Hullo!” cried Jimsy, suddenly, “there comes an auto now.”
“So it is,” exclaimed the others, as a black touring car came whizzing down the road below them. It soon halted, and a figure in leather garments with gaitered legs alighted and hastened across the fields toward the party clustered about the aeroplane. The car was left in charge of the chauffeur.
As Jimsy had guessed, the new arrival proved to be Hal Homer, the well-known cross country flier, from whom Roy had taken some vacation time aviation lessons.
“He’s awfully good looking,” whispered Jess to Peggy, after introductions to the dapper young aviator had been extended by Roy.
“Oh, so—so,” rejoined Peggy, with a toss of her head.
“Maybe you know some one who is handsomer?” questioned Jess with a mischievous side glance of her fine eyes.
Peggy flushed under her fair skin. But Jess laughed with good-humored raillery.