When it stopped in the hangar, the pilot stuck his head out of the cockpit.
“Hi, there,” he called to Jane and Sue. “I hear you won your wings last night.” It was Charlie Fischer, who had flown them from Chicago to Omaha the night before.
“You mean we had them clipped and singed,” retorted Jane.
Charlie climbed down from the cockpit.
“How’s Slim Bollei?” he asked.
“Just a slight crack on his head,” said Sue. “I hear that they select men with hard heads for pilots.”
“Ouch!” grinned Charlie. “I’m going to wear armor the next time I talk to you.”
“You needn’t. I don’t even bite.”
The pilot turned to Miss Comstock.
“Get your cargo aboard,” he said, “and we’ll take off in about five minutes. They routed me out at Omaha and started me west before I had time to get anything to eat. We’ll start as soon as I can rustle a cup of coffee and a sandwich at the shanty across the road.”