“Very pretty, very pretty indeed!” remarked the individual who had come through the gate. He was a tall, rangy man of about thirty, wearing overalls much the worse for grease and hard usage.
Bill and Charlie climbed down and walked over to him. “Good morning, and thanks,” smiled Bill. “My name is Bolton. Mr. Parker, isn’t it?”
“It pays to advertise,” grinned the lanky individual, and he gripped Bill’s extended hand with a horny fist. “Parker’s the name. I guess, by the way you brought that Loening down, it isn’t flight instruction you’re after!”
“No,” said Bill, “not this time. What I need is gas and oil and a place to park the bus for a few days. Can you fix me up?”
“Sure can, Mister. Business round here this summer is deader than a doornail. Specially in my line. Want the bus filled up, looked over and put shipshape, I take it?”
“That’s it. One of her plugs is carbonized a bit. I’d attend to it myself, only I’m too sleepy. We’ve been in the air most of the night. Anywhere we can turn in for a few hours? Our friends don’t expect us till this evening.”
“Well, I can rent you the spare room over to the house for as long as you want it. And how about something to eat before you turn in?”
“Lead me to it,” Charlie spoke up for the first time.
“Good enough!” Parker chuckled. “Come on, Mrs. P. will be glad to dish up something tasty for you fellows.”
The Parker homestead proved to be as neat and clean as a new pin. Mrs. Parker, a buxom young woman with dimples and a jolly smile, served the hungry lads with wheatcakes and coffee until they couldn’t eat another mouthful. Then she led them upstairs to the low-ceiled bedroom, where two white beds invited them to rest. She promised to call them at seven that evening and left them. Five minutes later, Bill and Charlie were sound asleep.