IN A STORM
Dwarfed to the merest midgets, the figures about the Prescott house waved
enthusiastically, as the golden-winged monoplane made a graceful swoop
high above the elms and maples surrounding it. Other figures could be
glimpsed too, now, running about excitedly outside the barn-like structure
housing the Mortlake aeroplanes.
"Guess they think you are stealing a march on them," drawled Lieut.
Bradbury.
A wild, reckless feeling, born of the thrilling sensation of aerial
riding, came over Peggy. She would do it--she would. With a scarcely
perceptible thrust of her wrist, she altered the angle of the rudder-like
tail, and instantly the obedient _Golden Butterfly_ began racing through
space toward the Mortlake plant.
The naval officer, quick to guess her plan, laughed as happily as a
mischievous boy.
"What a lark!" he exclaimed. "It's contrary to all discipline, but it's
jolly good fun."
Peggy turned a small brass-capped valve--the timer. At once the aeroplane
showed accelerated speed. It fairly cut through the air. Both the
occupants were glad to lower their goggles to protect their eyes from the
sharp, cutting sensation of the atmosphere, as they rushed against
it--into its teeth, as it were.
Peggy glanced at the indicator. The black pointer on the white dial was
creeping up--fifty, sixty, sixty-two--she would show this officer what the
Prescott monoplane could do.
"Sixty-four! Great Christmas!"
The exclamation came from the officer. He had leaned forward and scanned
the indicator eagerly.
"We'll do better when we have our new type of motor installed," said
Peggy, with a confident nod. The young fellow gasped.
"This is the twentieth century with a vengeance," he murmured, sinking
back in his rear seat, which was as comfortably upholstered as the
luxurious tonneau of a five-thousand-dollar automobile.
Like a darting, pouncing swallow, seeking its food in mid-air, the _Golden
Butterfly_ swooped, soared and dived in long, graceful gradients above the
Mortlake plant. Once Peggy brought the aeroplane so close to the ground in
a long, swinging sweep, that it seemed as if it could never recover enough
"way" to rise again. Even the officer, trained in a strict school to
repress his emotions, tightened his lips, and then opened them to emit a
relieved gasp.
So close to the gaping machinists and the anger-crimsoned Mortlake did the
triumphant aeroplane swoop, that Peggy, to her secret amusement could
trace the astonished look on the faces of the employees and the chagrined
expression that darkened Mortlake's countenance.
"I guess I've given them something to think over," she said
mischievously, flinging back a brilliant smile at the dazed young officer.
"Now," she exclaimed the next moment, "for a distance flight. I'm anxious
to put the _Golden Butterfly_ through all her paces. Oh, by the way, the
balancer. I haven't shown you how that works yet."
If Peggy's bright eyes had not been veiled by goggles, the officer might
have seen a mischievous gleam flash into them, like a wind ripple over the
placid surface of a blue lake.
Suddenly the aeroplane slanted to one side, as if it must turn over. Peggy
had banked it on a sharp aerial curve. The young officer, in spite of
himself, in defiance of his training, gave a gasp.
"I say----"
But the words had hardly left his lips before the aeroplane was back on a
level keel once more. At the same time a rasping, sliding sound was
heard.
"Like to see how that was done?" asked Peggy, with a bewitching smile.
"Yes. By Jove, I thought we were over for an instant. But how----"
"That we shall be glad to show you when the United States government has
contracted for a number of the Prescott aeroplanes," retorted Peggy.
The young officer bit his lip.
"Confound it," he thought, "is this chit of a girl making fun of me?"
Young officers have a high idea of their own dignity. Mr. Bradbury colored
a bit with mortification. But Peggy quickly dispelled his temporary
chagrin.
"You see," she explained, "it would never do for us to reveal all our
secrets, would it? You agree with me, don't you?"
"Oh, perfectly. You are quite right. Still, I confess that you have
aroused all my inquisitiveness."
Peggy being busied just then with a bit of machinery on the bulkhead
separating the motor from the body of the chassis, made no reply. But
presently, when she looked up, she gave a sharp exclamation.
The sky, as if by magic, had grown suddenly dark. Above the pulsating
voice of the motor could be heard the rumble of thunder. All at once a
vivid flash of lightning leaped across the horizon. One of those sudden
storms of summer had blown up from the sea, and Peggy knew enough of Long
Island weather to know that these disturbances were usually accompanied by
terrific winds--squalls and gusts that no aeroplane yet built or thought
of could hope to cope with.
"We're running into dirty weather, it seems," remarked the officer. "I
thought I noticed some thunderheads away off on the horizon when we first
went up."
"I wish you'd mentioned them then," said the straightforward Peggy; "as it
is, we'll have to descend till this blows over."
"What, won't even the wonderful equalizer render her safe?"
"No, it won't. It will do anything reasonable. But you've no idea of the
fury of the wind that comes with these black squalls."
"Indeed I have. Last summer I was off Montauk Point in the _Dixie_.
Something went wrong with the steering gear just as one of these self-same
young hurricanes came bustling up. I tell you, it was "all hands and the
cook" for a while. It hardly blows much harder in a typhoon."
Peggy gazed below her over the darkening landscape anxiously. There seemed
to be trees, trees everywhere, and not a bit of cleared ground. All at
once, as they cleared some woods, she spied a bit of meadowland. The hay
which had covered it earlier in the summer had been cropped. It afforded
an ideal landing-place. But the wind was puffy now, and Peggy did not dare
to attempt short descending spirals. Instead, trusting to the balancing
device doing its duty faithfully, she swung down in long circles.
Just as they touched the ground with a gentle shock, much minimized,
thanks to the shock-absorbers with which the _Golden Butterfly_ was
fitted, the storm burst in all its fury. Bolt after bolt of vivid
lightning ripped and tore across the darkened sky, which hung like a pall
behind the terrific electrical display. The rain came down in torrents.
"Just in time," laughed the young officer, as he aided Peggy in dragging
the aeroplane under the shelter of an open cart-shed. It was quite snug
and dry once they had it under the roof. A short distance off stood a
farm-house of fairly comfortable appearance. Smoke issuing from one of its
chimneys showed that it was occupied.
"Let's go over there and see if we can dry our things," suggested Peggy.
"I'm wet through."
"Same here," was the laughing reply; "but a sailor doesn't mind that. One
actually gets webbed feet in the navy--like ducks, you know."
Ignoring this remarkable contribution to natural history, Peggy gathered
up her skirts daintily and fled across the meadow to the farm-house. It
was only a few hundred feet, but the rain came down so hard that both she
and her escort were wetter than ever by the time they arrived at the door.
It was shut, and except for the lazy wisps of smoke issuing from the
chimney, there was no sign of life about the place.
The lieutenant knocked thunderously. No answer.
"Try again," said Peggy; "maybe they are in some other part of the house."
"Perhaps they were scared of the aeroplane and have all retired into
hiding," suggested Mr. Bradbury.
He rapped again, louder this time, but still no reply.
"They must all be asleep," he said, applying himself once more to a
thunderous assault on the door, but to no avail. A silence hung about the
place, broken only by the roar and rattle of the thunder.
"It's positively uncanny," shuddered Peggy. "It's like Red Riding Hood and
the Three Little Bears."
"One would think that even a bear would open the door on such an occasion
as this," said her companion, redoubling his efforts to attract attention.
Finally he gave the door handle a twist. It yielded, and the door was
speedily found to be unlocked. The officer shoved it open and disclosed a
neat farm-house kitchen. In a newly blackened stove, which fairly shone,
was a blazing fire. An old clock ticked sturdily in one corner. The floor
was scrubbed as white as snow, and on a shelf above the shining stove was
an array of gleaming copper pans that gladdened Peggy's housewifely heart.
"What a dear of a place!" she exclaimed. "But where are the folks who own
it?"
"Haven't the least idea," said the officer gayly; "but that stove looks
inviting to me. Let's get over to it and get dried out a bit. Then we can
commence to investigate."
"But, really, you know, we've not the least right in here. Suppose they
mistake us for burglars, and shoot us?"
"Not much danger of that. They'd shoot me first, anyhow, because I'm the
most burglarious looking of the two. Queer, though, where they all can
be."
"It's worse than queer--it's weird. Good gracious!" exclaimed Peggy, as a
sudden thought struck her, "suppose there should be trapdoors?"
"Trapdoors!" Her companion was plainly puzzled.
"Yes. You know in most books when two folks run across a deserted
farm-house there's always a trapdoor or a ghost or something.
Suppose----Good heavens, what's that?"
From without had come a most peculiar sound. A whirring, like the noise
one would suppose would be occasioned by a gigantic locust. Then
something--a huge, indefinite shadow--darkened the windows of the
farm-house kitchen. Peggy gave a shrill squeal of alarm, while Lieut.
Bradbury gallantly ran to the door and flung it open.