  Early after lunch the following afternoon—another clear, bright fall day typical of late September—Linda Carlton and her chum Dorothy Crowley climbed into the Ladybug, ready to take off for Los Angeles. Smiling and waving good-bye to Miss Carlton and Mrs. Crowley, who were standing on the side of the field, Linda gave her the gun. The plane taxied only a short distance, then with her nose headed upward, she began to climb almost vertically. It was a pretty, graceful take-off, and even Miss Carlton, frightened as she was of planes, had to admit that the autogiro seemed almost human. “We ought to make St. Louis before dark,” said Linda, through the speaking-tube. “I know the way so well—I flew it so often when I was going to the Air School.” “I remember,” replied Dot. “You and Louise.” Louise Haydock had been Linda’s inseparable chum all through high school. Then, when they had graduated, and Linda’s father had given the latter an Arrow Sport plane, the two girls had spent a year at a ground school in St. Louis. Louise’s marriage to Ted Mackay had finally separated them, for the Mackays went to Kansas City to live. Ever since that time Dot Crowley had shared in most of Linda’s flying adventures. “I’ll tell you what,” suggested Linda. “Let’s send Lou a wire tonight, and plan to stop in Kansas City tomorrow for lunch. I’m wild to see her.” “Great!” agreed Dot. “If she and Ted aren’t off on some flying trip.” The autogiro soared up into the clear, tingling air, colder above than it had been on the ground, and the old exhilaration of flying took possession of Linda and made her heart sing. Poor people down there on the earth, looking like ants crawling about on their humdrum affairs, when she was flying joyously through the heavens! Poor Aunt Emily, who would never know the thrill of this higher, freer, purer world! Even her anger against this impostor was temporarily forgotten. Nobody could be angry long in the sky. And, no matter what happened later, she and Dot were going to enjoy this trip to the coast. It would be the experience of a lifetime to an ordinary girl. The motor continued to hum evenly and the Ladybug averaged a hundred miles an hour. Over rivers and valleys and flat country, through Ohio, past Indiana, on to Illinois. The sun was setting as the girls sighted the broad waters of the Mississippi, and they knew that their first goal was in sight. A huge beacon light was already glowing, guiding the fliers on their way to the airport, and then on to the Air School. But Linda could have found her way without any guide, even in the fast increasing darkness. Linda decreased her speed and hovered over the field. Some of the attendants recognized the famous Ladybug, and by the time the autogiro descended to earth, quite a crowd had gathered to greet her. “Hello, Miss Carlton! We knew it was you!” “Glad to see you back, Miss Carlton!” Linda and Dot jumped out and Linda spoke to all her friends and asked them to put the Ladybug away for the night, and to tell her where to find Mr. Eckert. “He’s gone home, but you can get him on the telephone,” answered one of the attendants, writing the number down for her. “We saw you in the movies, Miss Carlton!” announced another. “You didn’t look half pretty enough, though. But we’re sure goin’ a see that picture when it comes to town!” Linda frowned. She didn’t want to take the time to deny the false impression, but she certainly did hate this sort of thing. The girls found a taxi at once, and, leaving their bigger box in the autogiro, they took out an overnight bag and went to a hotel that had been familiar to Linda during her year at St. Louis. “That’s what I’m going to be up against all the time!” she remarked, with distaste, as she and Dot settled back in the taxi. “You mean about the movies?” questioned her companion. “I was wondering why you didn’t deny it right off.” “I haven’t time to go about the world denying things. And it seems so useless. Until I have proof, I mean. They wouldn’t believe me any more than the crowd at home did.” “I suppose you’re right. Oh, well, don’t let’s worry. We can clear the whole thing up in no time.” They reached the hotel, made an appointment with Mr. Eckert over the telephone, and changed their costumes for dinner. It was after seven o’clock when they sat down to the table, and they did full justice to the meal. Mr. Eckert’s first remark when he greeted Linda was practically the same as that of the boys on the field. “I hear you are going into the movies, Linda,” he said, trying to hide his disapproval. “If I had known that, I shouldn’t have wasted your time offering you this position at the school.” Linda sighed. “That’s a false rumor, Mr. Eckert,” she explained. “But it wasn’t a rumor. It was a fact,” he persisted. “Sam and Jeff told me they saw your picture, signing the contract.” “I know. I saw it too. But it’s a fake. Some girl is impersonating me. For the sake of the money, I suppose.” The elderly man leaned forward, staring incredulously. “Do you really mean that, Linda?” he demanded. She nodded. “I’m on my way to the coast now, to clear it all up. Naturally, I’m furious.” “You won’t take over the contract yourself?” the man asked, with apparent satisfaction. What a joy this girl was, he thought! She was made for far greater things than moving-picture acting. Hers was a name that ought to go down in history, among the daring pioneers of aviation. “Of course not,” she assured him. “You know, Mr. Eckert, that that sort of thing doesn’t appeal to me—publicity and acting—and all that stuff. I’m happiest when I’m up in the skies with nobody else but my chum—Miss Crowley.” “That is what I always thought,” he said. “So I must say I was somewhat disappointed in the news when I heard it.” Linda smiled. Mr. Eckert had always understood her, and admired her—not as Ralph Clavering admired her, for her beauty and feminine charm,—but for her knowledge and skill as a flier. “Then you might consider my proposition after all?” he inquired, hopefully. “Yes, indeed. If you are willing to make it more or less temporary. I mean I could sign up for the duration of one course—say until next spring. The other offers I have had have all been so far away, that I’d rather accept yours, so that I could fly home every week-end. My aunt is practically alone, you see, for my father’s business is in New York.” “That’s splendid, Linda!” he cried, and he proceeded to go into detail about the work that he wanted her to teach. Dot sat back in her chair, gazing out of the window, and vainly trying to suppress a yawn. “I’m afraid, Mr. Eckert,” remarked Linda, when the former had finished his explanation, “that I may not be back in time to start when the school opens. Would you be willing to wait for me—till, say, the first of October? I ought to be here by then, though you never can tell.” At these words Dot sat up and laughed. “You surely can’t!” she agreed, heartily. “We have a habit of not showing up when we’re expected, Mr. Eckert—when Linda goes on her wild adventures.” “Oh, but this is different,” put in Linda, sincerely believing that there were no wild adventures in store for her this time. “Hollywood isn’t like the Okefenokee Swamp. It’s the most civilized spot in the world.” “But we haven’t promised to stay in Hollywood,” Dot reminded her. “True,” admitted Linda. Mr. Eckert rose. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Linda,” he said. “I’ll teach the class myself until the first of October. Then, if you can’t come, I’ll get another instructor. Is that all right with you?” “Fine,” agreed the girl, delighted to have it all settled, and at a salary that was by no means small. For Linda Carlton was a drawing-card, and Mr. Eckert knew that her name would bring new students to the school, and add prestige to the fine faculty which they already had. The last several days had been glorious weather—too good to last, Linda knew—for about the middle of September the fall rains usually set in. So she was not surprised to waken the following morning to find a dismal downpour, and what was worse, a bad wind. It was one of the equinoctial storms, so common at that time of the year. Dot looked dismayed, but she had no idea that Linda would postpone the flight. For you couldn’t tell how long such a rain might last, and time was important. She watched Linda get into her flying-suit, as if the mere matter of weather were nothing—all just part of the day’s work. “Hurry up, Dot. If we are to make Kansas City by lunch time.” “O.K.,” agreed the smaller girl, cheerfully. They were back at the field by half-past seven, ready to start. But the field was horribly muddy. Other planes had encountered severe difficulty in taking off, and the attendants looked doubtful. “Looks as if you’re not going after all,” remarked Sam, stepping close to the Ladybug, as Linda started the rotor blades in motion. “It’s a beastly day.” Linda smiled. “My rotor blades are going to help me to rise,” she returned, gaily. “Just watch ’em!” Two minutes later the autogiro left the rain-covered field, and soared into the murky skies. Almost immediately the ground and the landmarks became invisible to the girls in the cockpits, and the plane seemed to be wrapped in a great gray blanket of clouds and rain. The wind was blowing furiously, as if it were determined to get the better of the gallant Ladybug, but the rotor blades of the autogiro succeeded in keeping her on an even keel. But she rocked furiously, until Dot felt sure that she was going to be seasick. Linda’s gas was growing a little low—plenty, she felt sure, to get to Kansas City—but not any to waste, so she was keeping low. But she could not see anything, and she was thinking that at times like these flying could even be monotonous, when, all of a sudden, as if in a hideous dream, she saw a nineteen-story building rushing madly at her. Not that she realized that it was exactly nineteen stories—indeed it looked taller than that at the moment. It was huge, too big to avoid, as it loomed there in her path, like some tremendous, horrible monster, shutting out everything else in her sight, waiting to annihilate her. In the seat ahead Dot suddenly let out a sharp cry of terror, and Linda, realizing in a flash that she could not hope to clear the building now, pushed the joy-stick forward and nosed the plane into a dive. What was she heading for? A street, where she would dash down on top of pedestrians and motor-cars, killing others as well as herself and Dot?... But no, the speed was reducing; she was right over another office building—a shorter one, only about six stories in height—with—oh, joy of joys—a flat roof! As if she had planned it, she selected her spot, banked the autogiro to the left, cleared the wire fence around the edge, and landed right in the center of the roof! Making it look all the world as if she had planned a demonstration. With a grin of incredulity she turned exultantly to Dot. “Linda, you’re priceless!” shouted her chum. “Anybody’d think it was a stunt for the movies.” Linda frowned, and Dot was sorry the instant the words were out of her mouth. She had forgotten all about the reason for the flight, in her excitement at this narrow escape. At this moment half a dozen people appeared on the fire-escape, and a freckle-faced youth of about eighteen climbed immediately to the roof. “Pretty neat!” he exclaimed. “Is it a stunt?” “It was a life-saver,” explained Dot. “We nearly crashed on top of that big office building over there, and this one just loomed up in time.” “Know what building this is?” asked the young man. Linda shook her head. “It’s a newspaper building! Biggest newspaper in Kansas City!” “I never heard of a building made of newspapers,” returned Dot. “Funny we didn’t crash through!” The young man grinned; his specialty was wise-cracks. “I’m a reporter,” he announced. “My slogan’s ‘First on the spot, to get news while it’s hot.’—so please give me your names and addresses.” He took out his notebook, prepared to write. Linda looked displeased, but Dot was equal to the occasion. “Sallie Slocum and May Manton, from Toonerville,” she replied, briskly. “Two society buds.” The reporter solemnly wrote down the names. “Toonerville—where—what state?” he asked. “Toonerville, Trolley,” answered Dot, without blinking an eyelash. This time the young man didn’t know whether to smile or not. “You’re kidding me! That’s a name in Fontaine Fox’s cartoon.” “Sure it is,” agreed Dot. “But it’s a place, just the same. Just write and ask Mr. Fox, if you want to know.” Linda, meanwhile, had been examining her gas supply. It was sufficient to take them to the suburbs, where Ted and Louise lived, and she was anxious to be off. “Come on, May,” she said to Dot, managing with a great effort to keep her face straight. “We’re off—if the young man will be kind enough to get out of the way.” The reporter went back down the fire-escape, and Linda took off, but as the girls flew away they could distinguish faces peering at them from every window in sight. After all, they had afforded a pleasant diversion to a dull, work-a-day world, and Linda was thankful that it had all turned out so happily. “And how clever of you to think of giving fictitious names, Dot,” she said, through the speaking-tube. “Now if it gets into the papers, Aunt Emily will never guess that it was my Ladybug. It might worry her dreadfully if she thought I was dropping out of the skies all the time on top of office buildings. She’s dreamt about my being pinned on a church steeple, dangling in mid-air.” Fifteen minutes later, without further mishap, they landed at the Mackays’ field, and saw Louise waiting for them with an umbrella. “Darlings!” she shouted, above the noise of the engine and the rotors, and dashed across the muddy field like the impulsive girl she had always been. “I’m just wild about this!” Linda and Dot jumped out of the cockpits and hugged her joyfully. “Now come on in and get warm and dry,” said Louise. “Pity we can’t take the Ladybug inside too. But Ted’ll look after her comfort when he gets home.” “Does Ted get home for lunch?” asked Linda. “Oh, I hope he does, for I haven’t seen him in ages.” “No, darling, he doesn’t. But he gets home for supper, and you two are going to stay all night.” “We can’t, Lou—honestly—” “There’s no use arguing. You just have to. Didn’t my Ted save your life a couple of times at least, Linda Carlton? Don’t you owe him a debt of gratitude?” Linda laughed; there was no use arguing with Louise. After all, there was no great hurry—and it was bad weather for flying. One night more or less wouldn’t make much difference, she thought. So the young people spent a pleasant afternoon and evening together, talking aviation, swapping stories and gossip, and laughing heartily over the newspaper story about their strange landing, which appeared on the front page that night. Little did they think at the time that Dot’s prank was to cause them serious trouble later! |
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