"Hey, not so fast," laughed Bill. "First of all, will you please step
into the cabin, and in the second locker on your right you'll find a
helmet and a phone-set. Bring them out here. This shouting is making us
both hoarse and we'll soon be as deaf as posts from the noise of the
motor."
"Aye, aye, skipper," breezed Dorothy, and disappeared aft.
In a minute or two she returned with the things he had asked for. Bill
showed her how to adjust the receivers of the phone set over the ear
flaps of her helmet. Then reaching for the head set at the other end of
the connecting line, he put it on and spoke into the mouthpiece which
hung on his chest.
"Much better, isn't it?" he asked in a normal tone.
"It certainly is. I can hear you perfectly," she declared into her
transmitter. "--What next?"
"Come over here and sit on my lap.--I'm not trying to get fresh," he
added with a grin, as she hesitated. "I've had to make a shift like this
before with Dad. There is only one way to do it."
Dorothy was a sensible girl. She obeyed his order and placed herself on
his knees.
"Now put your feet over mine on the rudder pedals. And remember--to turn
right, push down on the right pedal, and vice versa. Get the idea?"
"Quite, thanks."
"Fine. Next--grab this stick and keep it as I have it. Now, I'm going to
pull my feet from under yours--ready?"
"Let her go!"
Bill jerked his feet away, to leave Dorothy's resting on the pedals.
"Good work!" he applauded. "The old bus hardly swerved. Keep her as
she's pointed now. We can't change her course, much less take off until
we hit one of those inlets along the Connecticut shore, and smoother
water. Brace yourself now--I'm going to slide out of this seat."
Dorothy was lifted quickly. Then she dropped back into the pilot's seat
to find herself fighting the tenacious pull of heavy seas, straining her
leg muscles to keep the plane from floundering.
"How's it going?" Bill's voice came from the floor of the cockpit where
he was busily engaged in pounding circulation back into his numbed legs
and feet.
"Great, thanks. But I will say that this amphibian of yours steers more
like a loaded truck in a mudhole than an honest-to-goodness plane! How
are your legs?"
"Gradually getting better--pretty painful, but then I'm used to this
sort of thing."
"Poor boy!" she exclaimed sympathetically, then gritted her teeth in the
effort to keep their course as a huge comber crashed slightly abeam the
nose.
Bill grasped the side of her seat for support. "You handled that one
nicely," he approved when the wave had swept aft. "But don't bother
about me--you've got your own troubles, young lady. I'll be all right in
a few minutes."
"What I can't understand," said Dorothy, after a moment, "is why this
plane didn't sink when you landed and picked me up. How _did_ you keep
from slewing broadside and going under?"
"Well, it was like this. When I left you on the beach, I motored back
home to New Canaan. The sky was blackening even then. I was sure we were
in for the storm, so after putting up the car, I went out to the hay
barn in that ten acre field where we house the old bus. She needed gas,
so I filled the tanks, gave her a good looking over and went back to the
house and telephoned."
"You mean you phoned the beach club about me?"
"Yes. The steward said you weren't anywhere around the club, and your
sloop wasn't in the inlet. It was pretty dark by then and the wind was
blowing a good thirty-five knots. I made up my mind you must be in
trouble. Frank ran after me on my way out to the plane--he's our
chauffeur you know--"
"Yes, I know--" broke in Dorothy--"he drove you and your father to the
movies last night. I saw him."
"That's right. Frank's a good scout. He wanted to come along with me,
but I wouldn't let him."
"I s'pose you thought you'd save _his_ skin, at least?"
"Something like that. A fellow doesn't mind taking responsibility for
himself--it's a different thing with some one else. Well, before Frank
and I ran this plane out of the barn, I rigged the sea anchor (nothing
more than a large canvas bucket with a couple of crossed two-by-twos
over the top to keep it open) with an extra long mooring line. The
sea-anchor I brought up here in the cockpit with me. The other end of
the line was fastened to a ring-bolt in the nose, of course. Well--to
get through with this yarn--I took off alone and flew over to the
Sound."
"But wasn't it awful in this wind?"
"It was pretty bad. As soon as I got over water, I switched on the
searchlight, but it was a good half-hour before the light picked you up.
Then I landed--"
"Into the wind or with it?" interrupted Dorothy.
"Getting interested, eh?" commented Bill with a smile. "Well, just
remember this then, never make a downwind landing with a seaplane in a
wind blowing over eighteen miles an hour."
"Why?"
"Because the wind behind your plane will increase the landing speed to
the point where you will crash when you strike the water--that's a good
reason, isn't it?"
"Then you landed into the wind when you came down for me?"
"That's right. And as soon as I struck the water, I shut off the motor,
opened one of these windows and threw over the sea anchor. Then I fished
you out with the boathook."
"It sounds sort of easy when you tell it--but I'll bet it wasn't." She
gazed at him admiringly. "You surely took some awful chances--"
"Hey there!" called Bill. "Pull back the stick or you'll nose over."
"That's better," he approved as she obeyed his order. "Keep it well back
of neutral. Sorry I yelled at you," he grinned.
Bill got to his feet. "I'm O.K. now," he went on, "and you must be
pretty well done up. I'm going to take it over."
Seating himself on her lap, as she had sat on his, he placed his feet
upon hers. A minute later, she had drawn her feet back from the rudder
pedals, slipped out from under and was seated on the floor, rubbing life
back into her feet and legs, as Bill had done.
"Why is it," she inquired presently, "that the plane rides so much
smoother when you're guiding her?"
Bill smiled. "When I give her right pedal, that is, apply right rudder,
I move the stick slightly to the left and vice versa. In that way I
depress the aileron on the side I want to sail. It aids the rudder. You
got along splendidly, though, and stick work when taxiing needs
practice."
Dorothy got to her feet, rather unsteadily. "Look!" she cried. "Lights
ahead. We must be nearing shore, Bill."
"We are. There's a cove out yonder I'm making for. And better still, the
wind is lessening. Just about blown itself out, I guess."
In another ten minutes they sailed in through the mouth of an almost
landlocked inlet and with the motor shut off drifted in comparatively
smooth water.
"Any idea where we are?" inquired Dorothy, when Bill, after throwing out
the anchor, came back to her.
"Somewhere between Norwalk and Bridgeport, I guess," he replied. "There
are any number of coves along here. I'll take you ashore, now. We've got
a collapsible boat aboard. Not much of a craft, but it'll take the two
of us in all right. We'll go over to one of those houses, and get your
father on the phone. He can come down and drive you back to New Canaan."
"Drive us both back, you mean!"
"Sorry--but it can't be done. I've got to take this old bus home as soon
as the wind dies down a little more."
"How long do you suppose that will be?" asked Dorothy quietly.
Bill glanced up at the black, overcast sky and then turned his gaze
overside and studied the water toward the inlet's mouth.
"Oh, in about an hour I'll be able to take off."
"Then I'll wait and fly back with you."
"You certainly are a sportsman," he applauded and looked at his wrist
watch. "It's only ten to six--though anyone would think it was midnight.
I'll tell you what--suppose I shove off in the dinghy. I'll row ashore
and telephone your Dad from the nearest house. He will be half crazy if
he knows you were out sailing in that blow and haven't reported back to
the club. In the meantime, you might scare up something to eat. There's
cocoa, condensed milk, crackers and other stuff in the cabin locker
nearest the stove. You must be starved--I know I am!"
They were standing on one of the narrow decks that ran from amidships
forward to the nose of the plane below the pilot house.
"The very thought of food makes me ravenous," declared Dorothy, starting
for the cabin door. "Give Dad my love and say I'm all right--thanks to
you!" she threw back over her shoulder--"Tell him to put back dinner
until seven-thirty--and to have an extra place laid. In the meantime
I'll dish up a high tea to keep us going."
Within the cabin, she set water on the two-burner electric stove to
boil. While it was heating she let down the hinged table and set it with
oilcloth doilies, that she found, together with other table necessities
in a cupboard next the food locker. She discovered some bread and a
number of other eatables stowed away here, as well as the things Bill
had mentioned.
Twenty minutes later, Bill returned to find the table set with cups of
steaming cocoa and hot toasted sandwiches spread with marmalade.
"I'll say you're some cook, Dorothy!" He pulled up a camp stool, and
seated himself at the table. "This is a real party!"
"There isn't any butter--" began Dorothy doubtfully.
"Don't apologize. It's wonderful--do start in or I'll forget my manners
and grab!"
Dorothy helped herself to a sandwich and handed the plate across the
table. "Were you able to get Dad?"
"Yes. Just caught him. He'd only got home from the bank a few minutes
before. One of the maids told him you'd spoken of going sailing, so he
phoned the club about you. He was just leaving the house to drive down
there when I rang him up."
"Did he say anything else?"
"Oh, naturally, he was glad you were all right. He didn't seem so
pleased when I told him I was flying you back. He asked me if I was an
experienced pilot."
"He would." Dorothy chuckled. "What did you tell him?"
Bill laughed as he helped himself to another sandwich. "I wanted to get
out here to your high tea, you know, so I asked him if he smoked
cigarettes."
"_Cigarettes?_"
"Yes. 'If you do, Mr. Dixon,' I said--you know the old slogan, 'Ask
Dad--he knows--' and I'm sorry to say I rang off."
"I'll bet he goes over and asks your father!"
"Very probably. Dad's rather touchy when anybody questions my rating as
a pilot. I'm afraid your father will get an earful."
Cocoa and toast had disappeared by this time so the two in the cabin set
about clearing up.
"You must'nt mind Daddy's crusty manner," she said with her hands in a
dishpan of soapsuds. "He's always like that when he's upset. He doesn't
mean anything by it."
Bill, who was stowing away cups and saucers in the locker, turned about
with a grin. "Oh, that's all right. I had no business to get
facetious--my temper's not so good, either. But there's no hard
feeling." He held out his hands. "If you're finished with the dishpan
I'll throw the water overside. The storm has broken and there's
practically no wind. So if you're ready we'll shove off for New
Canaan--and I'll give you your first hop."
_Chapter IV_