“Better start right away. It’s a two hour and a half trip. You’ll be put up down there. If you’re having a good time, you needn’t come back until Monday morning.
“Good luck. That’s all.”
“Boy, this’ll be fun!” Forell chuckled jubilantly as they went out. “Ever been in Nashville? They sure have good-looking Janes there, and we’ll be cocks of the walk. You’re not too old to like the women, are you?”
“How soon can you be ready?” demanded Finley. “I’ll be set in half an hour.”
“Me too. Let’s hope you don’t crash as a speechmaker, anyhow! I do the flying and you tell ’em how, eh?”
“See you in half an hour.”
They took off promptly in the trim observation plane. It was of duralumin construction, and capable of any kind of acrobatic work. It could do a hundred and fifty miles an hour on the level, and represented the last word in a two-seated fighting plane.
Finley, like all pilots, was uncomfortable without his own hand at the stick, but Forell was not called on to meet any emergencies as they roared down the Big Miami to its junction with the Ohio, thence down that majestically muddy stream to a point above Louisville where they cut southwest across the Kentucky mountains until they hit the Louisville-Nashville railroad. From there it was but a half-hour run across the brooding, wooded hills to their destination.
There were fully five thousand people at the field, and shortly after they had landed Forell went up for his exhibition.