“He looks like the same type as his father—same shifty eyes, same restlessness—furtiveness!”
“Say! See here!” Lang became suddenly angry. “You let that young man alone and keep your unfair suspicions off him.”
“Is that so?” Al was angry, too, all at once. “Who are you to give us orders?”
“I’ll let you know who I am if you go on suspecting innocent people. What’s more, I’ll have Uncle Fred yank you out of there so quick——”
“What makes you so hot under the collar?” demanded Bob. “What is it to you if we suspect Griff? Is he an angel that we have to keep our minds off him?”
“He’s a mighty good friend of mine!” snapped Langley.
All of them were angry. Curt, not related to the others, felt that he ought to intervene between the quarreling cousins, but something in the unreasoning fury of Lang’s next words stopped him.
“See here!” Lang forgot he was piloting an airplane, and swung around on his seat, his face working. “If you keep on, if you bother Griff, or try to trail him, or anything—I’ll have Uncle Fred yank you out of there so quick——”
“Oh! Look out!”
Forgotten, the airplane, with no guide, answered automatically to the thrust of Lang’s foot on the rudder bar as he whirled on his cousins. The shift of the rudder swung the nose, and Lang’s instinct made him operate it to make the ailerons bank the ship, but she had almost lost flying speed, the all important velocity which gives the wings lifting qualities.