Dorothy Dixon and the Mystery Plane

“Maybe you’re right.” Dorothy was still unconvinced. “But how about the warning we got a little while ago?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Well, we hadn’t had lunch yet – he dropped the message from his plane in the morning – not during the late afternoon!”

Bill yawned unblushingly and got to his feet.

“Cuts no ice,” he asserted. “That wasn’t a regular hop.”

“What then?” This from Mr. Dixon.

“A grandstand play, pure and simple. Those lads haven’t the brains I gave them credit for, if they really think they can steer us off with tripe like that!”

Mr. Bolton ground the butt of his cigar on an ashtray, and rose.

“Perhaps that wasn’t the idea,” he suggested.

Three heads were turned sharply toward him.

“What do you mean, Bolton?” asked Mr. Dixon.

“A come-on,” returned his neighbor.

“A come-on?” echoed Dorothy in a puzzled voice.

“Just that – nothing more nor less.”

“I get you,” Bill nodded. “Get us in the air, by that teaser – rely on us to go after the Mystery Plane as a matter of pride – and then fill us full of machine gun bullets. If they start anything like that – well – two can play the game and if that lad with the beard can’t shoot any better than he handled his plane when he zoomed the house just now – it is, as the French say, ‘to laugh’!”

“That’s all very well,” argued Mr. Dixon. “I don’t mind Dorothy flying, but I do draw the line at machine guns. That’s no game for girls. You keep your two feet on solid earth until this business is over, my dear.”

“Oh, Daddy!” Dorothy’s voice was full of disgust.

“Sorry, daughter, but I simply can’t let you take the risk.”

Mr. Bolton placed his hand on his friend’s arm.

“You know, I don’t think that Bill would have countenanced Dorothy’s going on patrols with him unless he felt assured she would run no danger. How about it, son?”

“If she does get into trouble, it won’t be with my consent,” he smiled. “But seriously, sir,” he turned to Mr. Dixon. “There will be a minimum of danger if Dorothy does as I tell her. In the first place, machine gun fire in the air is not nearly so potent as it is on terra firma. Try and hit a small object flashing by when you’re traveling like a bat out of – ahem! – Harlem. Try it and see how many planes you don’t hit! And in the second place, that bearded guy won’t get a chance to turn his gun in her direction.”

“Well, I’m no flyer and I haven’t the slightest idea of the technicalities that must arise in aerial combat work,” Mr. Dixon made this statement slowly and thoughtfully, “but still – ”

“Daddy, don’t be ridic.” Dorothy’s tone was tolerantly amused.

“Do you really think I’m foolish, my dear child?”

“Oh, pigheaded is a better word, at times, if you insist on the truth!”

All four burst into roars of mirth.

“That’s one from the shoulder, Mr. Dixon,” choked Bill. “You’d better go the whole hog, now she’s a licensed pilot!”

Dorothy’s father shook his head in pretended sorrow. “You’re all against me, that’s obvious. And there’s much too much pig in this conversation to suit a conservative parent.” He threw an affectionate glance at Dorothy. “Ever since this tomboy daughter of mine was able to grip my finger when I leaned over her crib, she has pulled her old Dad hither and yon to suit her fancy. So I suppose I’ll have to give in again – acknowledge I’m wrong, and so forth. Run along, children, and see to it your airships are in apple-pie order.”

“You’re a darling!” His daughter bestowed a hearty kiss upon his left ear.

“Beat it – you scamp!” Mr. Dixon’s voice was gruff, though his eyes sparkled with merriment. “If you bother me much longer, it will be lunch time before I get down to the bank – and I’m likely to change my mind. Shoo!”

“Ogre – I defy you!” With a laugh, she beckoned to Bill and ran down the steps.

“Well, what shall it be?” she inquired when he joined her. “Your ship or mine, first?”

“Mine, I think. None of the three has been off the apron of the hangar since I left for Europe. Frank has been looking after them. He’s a great old feller, you know. When we brought him back from New York he didn’t know a fork from a gadget. Now he’s chauffeur, general factotem around the house, and practical mechanic for me. He knows his job all right, but my boats will need more overhauling than yours.”

“Which plane shall you use for this work?”

“The Ryan M-l, that the bank gave me after that Martinelli business. She certainly is a smart little bus – can fly rings around anything in this neck of the woods. Hello – ” he broke off as they came down the drive, “somebody’s had a breakdown.”

Drawn up at the side of the ridge road stood a green coupe of the type motor car manufacturers advertise as “de luxe model.” As they came in sight, a young man crawled out from beneath the body.

“Why, that’s Mr. Tracey,” said Dorothy. “Do you know him?”

“Yes, I met him at Mr. Holloway’s house one night. Isn’t he the old boy’s secretary?”

“Yes, he is. He’s quite nice. Dad sees a lot of Mr. Holloway, you know.”

The secretary, tall and sleekly blond, was looking ruefully down at his grey flannel trousers, now streaked with the dirt of the roadway.

“Good morning, Miss Dorothy,” he greeted, clipping his words in a precise manner. “Afraid I’m not exactly presentable.” Then for the first time, he appeared to notice Bill. “Hello, Bolton,” he said affably. “You’re quite a stranger around here.”

“Got back a couple of days ago,” returned Bill casually. “Need any help?”

“Thanks, no. Loose nut, that’s all.” He patted his monkey wrench with a grimy hand. “This fixed her. Doing much flying, Miss Dorothy?”

“Yes, I go up quite often. Bill taught me, you know.”

“Yes, I remember. I’d like to take lessons, myself. How about giving me instruction – that is, if you’re not too expensive?”

“I’m really not in the business,” parried Bill. “You’d do much better at one of the schools. Glad to give you a hop, though, if you’d like to go up?”

“Thanks so much. I’ll be glad to take advantage of your offer. What about this afternoon? It’s a perfectly lovely day.”

“Sorry, but today I’m overhauling my planes. Been away some time, you see. I’ll probably take them up on tests about four. But of course I don’t want the responsibility of a passenger until I know they are running O.K.”

Mr. Tracey nodded and got into his car.

“I understand perfectly. Thanks for the invitation, though. I’ll give you a ring later in the week and allow myself the pleasure of going up with you. Goodbye. Goodbye, Miss Dorothy.”