A Flying Engagement
At seven o’clock the following morning, just as the cook was putting on
her apron, the door bell of the Carltons’ bungalow rang sharply.
“Beggar probably wants his breakfast,” the woman muttered, as she slowly
went to the door. But there were few beggars at Green Falls, and they
always came to the back door.
A blond, freckle-faced young man, without any hat, stood on the porch,
grinning shyly. At the gate was the most dilapidated-looking Ford she
had ever seen.
“Good morning,” he said, briskly, and the cook would never have
suspected from his bright, cheery tone that he had been driving all
night. “I’m a reporter from the Grand Rapids _Star_, and I want to see
Miss Linda Carlton just as soon as possible.”
“Miss Linda ain’t seein’ no more reporters,” replied the woman, flatly.
“She seen enough a couple of weeks ago to last her the rest of her
life.”
“But I want to help her,” insisted the young man. “Help her find the
lost child’s parents.”
“Oh! That’s different. Come along in, and give me your card.”
Smiling happily at his success, the young man entered the living room.
“Had your breakfast?”
“Why—er—I had some coffee in a thermos bottle.”
“You could eat some?”
“I’ll say I could!”
“All right. Set down there and read the paper while I fix some. I don’t
want to wake Miss Linda jest yet.”
The cook kept him waiting an hour, but she rewarded him with such a
breakfast as he could not have bought at the best hotel. The choicest
honeydew melon, griddle cakes, home-cooked ham, coffee, and even fried
potatoes. It made the young man think of the meals his mother cooked on
the farm.
Just as he was finishing his second cup of coffee, Miss Carlton
appeared, followed immediately by Linda and Amy.
The boy stood up and flushed a vivid red in a vain effort to murmur
apologies and explanations. It was plain to be seen that he was from the
country, and that this was his first newspaper job.
“My name’s Michael O’Malley,” he finally said, producing a card from his
pocket. “And the paper is going to give me a tryout on this story; I can
stay as long as I like, provided I get something interesting.” He was
talking very fast now, almost as if he were afraid to stop, lest Miss
Carlton put him out. “You see, I’m crazy about detective stories, and
this seems like a chance to do some real sleuthin’. If we can only find
the young lady’s family, and run down that guy that ran her down!”
Linda smiled. She couldn’t help liking the boy; he was so sincere, so
earnest, so eager to please.
“Sit down again, Mr. O’Malley,” she said; “while we eat our breakfast,
we’ll talk it over.”
“Thank you, Miss Carlton,” he breathed, reverently. He treated Linda as
if she were some sort of goddess.
“And have some more griddle cakes,” urged Miss Carlton, hospitably. She,
too, liked the boy.
He grinned.
“You know, they taste exactly like my mother’s!” he exclaimed. “I never
found anybody who could make ’em like this except her. We lived on a
farm, you see—and there were five boys. And maybe my mother couldn’t
cook!”
“Now,” continued Linda, after her aunt had seen to the boy’s wants,
“there really isn’t a whole lot to do. I’m sure we’ll get a phone call
from Amy’s parents to-day, for they’ll be crazy to get her back, and
must be watching the papers. The only ‘detective’ part of the story is
to find that man. After all, it probably was only an accident, but
still, he ought to be punished.”
“What did he look like?”
“Well, you see we were up in the air, and couldn’t get a very good look
at him. But he wore no hat, and he had an immense amount of gray
hair—and, I think, whiskers. I know it seems funny that a man his age
should be driving so fast.”
“What kind of car was it?” demanded the reporter.
“Gray—and open. But I couldn’t tell you the make, or anything more in
description. It all happened so quickly, and it shot away before we
could really see it.”
“You didn’t even get the state or the license number?”
“No, of course not.”
Mr. O’Malley sighed.
“Looks pretty hopeless. But do you mind if I stick around here to-day
till Miss Amy’s parents show up? I’d like to be on tap with that much of
the story.”
“We’ll be glad to have you,” replied Miss Carlton, hospitably. “Stay
until to-morrow if you like, Mr. O’Malley, as our guest.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Carlton!” he answered gratefully. “It—you—make me
feel so at home, and I’ve been kinda homesick in Grand Rapids. And—would
you call me ‘Mike,’ please?”
“Certainly, Mike,” agreed his hostess.
“And I’ll see that you get the story of our treasure hunt for your
paper,” added Linda, generously. “A treasure hunt by airplane.”
“Gee Whitakers!” cried the boy, enthusiastically. “That is something
new!”
Miss Carlton frowned, but said nothing. Amy, too, was silent. She could
not be hopeful like the others of hearing from her parents, for she felt
sure that there were no parents to hear from.
The telephone rang, and Linda jumped up eagerly, hoping that it meant
good news for Amy. To her amazement she heard the fascinating voice of
Lord Dudley at the other end of the wire.
“Good morning, Great Aviatrix!” he said. “This is one of your many
admirers—Claude Dudley.”
Linda flushed; this was going to be more exciting than news of Amy’s
family.
“Good morning, Lord Dudley,” she replied.
“I am going to ask you a big favor, Miss Carlton,” he said. “I have to
get back to Chicago to-day, and I was wondering whether you would take
me across Lake Michigan in your autogiro. We could lunch at the Lakeside
Inn—a place that I know to be particularly charming.”
Linda’s heart beat rapidly; no young man had ever been able to thrill
her like this before. How flattered she was to have him call upon her!
“I’d love to, Lord Dudley,” she replied, slowly. “But you must wait
until I ask my aunt’s permission.”
“Well! Well!” he exclaimed, in amazement. “I didn’t know modern girls
did that any more!”
Linda laughed.
“This girl does. Will you hold the wire, Lord Dudley?”
“Certainly, Miss Carlton. Your favor is well worth waiting for.”
Linda put down the telephone and turned to her aunt, repeating the
conversation.
“We don’t know anything about him,” remarked the older woman. “But he
seemed like a gentleman. And Tom Hulbert introduced him, so I guess he
is all right. If your autogiro is in perfect condition, I suppose I am
willing.”
Linda turned to her young guest.
“Do you mind if I go off, Amy?” she inquired.
“Not a bit, Linda. I want you to have a good time.”
So Linda returned to the telephone and promised to be ready at half-past
eleven.
She would not admit to herself how thrilled she was, but she selected
her prettiest dress, and was ready for Lord Dudley some minutes before
his taxi arrived. She ran out on the porch to meet him.
“We must keep the cab,” she said, as she shook hands with him, and
noticed that he was even better looking than she had thought, “in order
to get to the airport.”
“Right,” he agreed, giving the necessary directions to the driver.
“Now you must tell me all about yourself, Miss Carlton,” he said, as he
seated himself beside her in the cab. “I mean the things that haven’t
been in the papers.”
“There really isn’t anything to tell,” replied Linda, modestly. “I’m
just an ordinary girl, with a high-school education and a year at a
ground school, where I earned my transport pilot’s license. The only
thrilling thing about me is my ‘Ladybug’—that’s the name of my
autogiro.”
“I know something more thrilling than any of those things,” he said,
with his engaging smile. “Something the newspapers have never been able
to describe— Your flawless beauty!”
Linda flushed to the lobes of her ears at the compliment; it didn’t seem
possible that a young man like this, who had been everywhere and met
thousands of beautiful girls, could find her so attractive. Yet there
was a note of sincerity in his low, deep voice that prevented any doubt.
“I wish you would tell me about yourself, instead,” she urged, anxious
to change the subject. “About your family in England, and how you
happened to come to America.”
“There isn’t much to tell about that, either,” he replied. “There is an
old castle at home, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t interest you. It’s so run
down. It needs lots of money spent on it. My father is an old man, and
it has been the dream of his life to see the castle in good order again,
with the gardens well kept, as they were in years gone by. So I have
come to America to try to make some money.”
The smile which was usually on Lord Dudley’s lips had vanished, and his
eyes grew wistful. What a wonderful man he was, Linda thought, to put
his father’s wishes above everything else!
“Here is the airport, Lord Dudley,” she announced. “We’ll have to
postpone our conversation until we get to the tea room. You can’t talk
in an autogiro.”
“No; I realize that. But how interesting it will be. I have heard of
Cierva, the inventor, in England, and I even saw him once on one of my
trips to Spain, but I have never flown in an autogiro.”
“You’ll get the thrill of your life!” Linda promised.
“I got the thrill of my life last night,” he said, and Linda could not
help knowing that he was referring to his meeting her.
She gave the “Ladybug” a hasty inspection, although the head mechanic at
the airport assured her that it was in perfect condition. Lord Dudley
shouted his admiration of its quick take-off into the air, and settled
himself comfortably for the beautiful flight over the lake. Linda, too,
found the trip delightful; in the dreamy mood that she was experiencing,
she was almost glad that they could not talk. Was it possible, she
wondered, that at last she had fallen in love?
As Lord Dudley had promised, the Inn was charming, and the luncheon
excellent. Linda was sorry when it was over, for it meant parting from
her fascinating companion.
“I can never thank you enough, Miss Carlton,” he said in a low tone, as
he took her hand into both of his for a moment. “And—may I come back
again?”
“Oh, yes, indeed!” she answered, with eagerness.
“When I do come back, I—I—will just have to ask you something—Linda, my
dear. I know I shouldn’t—I am a poor man—but—” He hesitated, and leaning
over, pressed a kiss on her hand. Then, without another word, he put her
into her autogiro.
Her heart in a turmoil, Linda mechanically started her motor and flew
away. Lord Dudley’s meaning was clear, but what was the answer? Could
she possibly decide so quickly whether she loved him or not, whether she
was ready to give up everyone else for his sake, even her own country,
to cast her lot with his? It was too much to think about; she was
thankful when she reached home to be able to put the question aside in
favor of Amy’s problems.
She ran up the steps hopefully, wondering whether there was any news,
and she found Amy and Mike in their bathing suits and rain coats, all
ready for a swim.
“Haven’t you heard anything?” she demanded eagerly. “No phone calls?”
“Only from other reporters,” sighed Mike, and Amy suddenly burst out
crying.
“I must be an orphan,” she sobbed. “That is why you and Miss Emily seem
so wonderful to me, Linda. I am sure that I never knew anybody like you
in my past life.”
“Don’t give up yet, dear. If you had been in an orphan asylum, the
authorities would have claimed you long ago. Maybe your family is poor,
and can’t get the money immediately. Please don’t cry—you don’t have to
make a pool of tears like Alice in Wonderland to swim in. There’s a
marvelous lake this side of the falls!”
“Alice in Wonderland!” repeated Amy, slowly. “I’ve heard of her.”
“Of course you have. I’ll hunt up a copy of the book, and see what it
recalls to you. Now if you wait five minutes for me, I’ll get into my
bathing suit and go along with you!”
Fifteen minutes later the three young people parked the roadster at the
shore of the lake, and joined the others in bathing. Linda introduced
both Mike and Amy to everybody, so that the strangers felt quite at
home.
Ralph Clavering immediately took possession of Linda.
“Where were you to-day?” he demanded. “I expected you to play tennis
with me.”
“I thought you were angry at me, Ralph,” she returned, demurely.
“I was, but the worst part of it all is, I can never stay angry. Are you
going to enter the treasure hunt?”
“I sort of hope so. Aunt Emily hasn’t said anything against it lately,
and I was flying to-day.”
“Flying! Where?”
“Across Lake Michigan.”
“Alone?” This jealous young man always felt that he had a right to know
of all Linda’s engagements.
“No; I took Lord Dudley across.” She tried to keep her tone
matter-of-fact.
“How you girls fall for titles!” he almost sneered. “I don’t like the
man.”
“Men never do admire handsome men,” Linda answered, slyly.
“If you call him handsome!— Well, you have to give us to-morrow. Kit’s
expecting you to lunch.”
“O.K.,” agreed the girl, disappearing with a swan dive into the lake.