When I told him I couldn’t wait he stared at me strangely, and when I turned at the door he had called another man, and they were both looking after me and shaking their heads.
IV
It had been the desire of Tish’s life to fly in an aëroplane, and we knew by this time that much of her story was laid in the air. But during the trip west I believe she lost some of her fine enthusiasm. This was due, I imagine, to the repeated stories of crashes with which the newspapers were filled, and also to the fact that we passed one airship abandoned in a field, and showing signs of having fallen from a considerable height.
This theory was borne out, I admit, by Tish’s reception of Mr. Stein at the station in Los Angeles.
“We’ve got a small dirigible for the bootleggers, Miss Carberry,” he said cheerfully, “and a fast pursuit plane for you, machine gun and all. Got the plane cheap, after a crash. A dollar saved is a dollar earned, you know!”
Tish, I thought, went a trifle pale.
“You won’t need them, Mr. Stein. I’m going to take the story out of the air.”
“Great Scott! What for?” he exclaimed.
“It is too improbable.”
“Improbable! Of course it is. That’s the point.” Then he leaned forward and patted her reassuringly. “Now, see here, Miss Carberry,” he said, “don’t you worry! We’ve got a good pilot for you, and everything. You’re as safe there as you are in this car.”