“And I’ll fly the plane for you,” Rosa volunteered.
“You fly my plane?” Tom gave vent to a roaring laugh.
Rosa’s face crimsoned. For a time she did not speak. Then in a slow, even tone, she said: “Try me!”
“All right, I will.” This time Tom did not laugh.
“All right, Rosa,” Tom said, when their jeep drew up to the fisherman’s dock, off which the Seagull lay at anchor, “the plane is yours, if you can fly her.”
“You don’t mean that!” Norma said in a low tone, as Tom bent over to untie his skiff.
“Sure I do!” he replied promptly. “Give everyone a chance to show what he can do, that’s my motto. Climb in. The back seat is wide enough for you and me. We’ll have Rosa for our sky pilot.”
Norma hung back. “Come on,” he urged. “I’ll guarantee that no harm will come of it.”
Ten minutes later Norma found herself beside Tom in the rear seat. Lines had been cast off and Rosa was warming up the motor. Norma, uneasy, heaved a sigh of relief when she noticed that Tom too could work the controls from where he sat.