“Yes, I did.” The younger of the two men looked up quickly. “Why?”
“Oh nothing I guess.” Johnny dropped into a seat prepared to watch the game.
Though for a full quarter hour he said never a word, the young aviator looked at Johnny in a queer way many times.
“Well, what about it?” he said, turning to Johnny when the game was over.
“Nothing I guess,” Johnny repeated.
“That was a queer business,” the aviator chuckled, “that flying over your field. Had two passengers, sort of hard lookers, but well-dressed. Said they lived in Hillcrest. They wanted to go over the ball game. Kept telling me to circle down, down, down. Then they’d say, ‘No! Not now! Up again!’ They repeated that little trick three times.”
“I know,” Johnny breathed.
“You know?” the young aviator stared.
“Of course I do. Go on.”
“Well—” the aviator cleared his throat. “The third time we went down closer than I like to. Then we flew away. Sort of queer, I’d say!” He shot Johnny an enquiring look.