“I suppose you’ll be traveling like this when you start on that—I can’t help saying it—foolish trip around the world, Tom,” said Mary.
“A lot faster,” was his answer. “You see I’ve got to do twenty-five thousand miles in twenty days. That’s twelve hundred miles a day. Counting twelve hours to a day on the average, that’s a hundred miles an hour. But of course there will have to be stops, forced or others, and so practically I’ll have to double that rate and make it two hundred miles or more of flying every hour.”
“Can you go that fast, Tom?”
“Faster, I hope. I just read of a navy seaplane that did two hundred and fifty-six miles an hour. I’m going to better that record if I can. Just wait until I get the new triple traveler finished.”
“I hope it doesn’t finish you, Tom,” said Mary.
He leaned over toward her. By a new muffler attachment on the engine the roar of the exhaust was deadened and it was possible to talk without shouting. Love making can never be carried on in shouts, as you know well.
On and on flew Tom and Mary, the little plane gaining speed and height each minute. They were soon up above the clouds, flying fast.
“You’re a good traveler, Mary,” said Tom. “How’d you like to come along on the world-circling jaunt?”
“In some ways I’d like it—I could make sure you were safe,” she said with a smile. “But I’m afraid I can’t manage it,” she added, as Tom gave her hand a squeeze. To do this he had to release one of the levers he was manipulating, and when he again shifted it there was a peculiar sound.
“What’s that?” cried the girl.