ANOTHER HARD BLOW
After making this astonishing statement, Mr. Trowbridge walked hastily
to the window and ran his fingers around his collar as if it was tight.
For a moment Roberta stood in her tracks, her helmet shoved back off
her forehead, her wavy hair falling in unruly twists, while her eyes
stared at the man’s back so hard they finally forced him to turn around.
“Oh, I say, Miss Langwell--” he paused, then walked briskly to his
desk, cleared his throat, opened and closed a drawer, and without
looking at her again, spoke with an effort. “I’m sorry about this--” he
got up again, “but, don’t take it so hard. You’ve got one of the best
records of any pilot in the country, you own Nike, and you are sure to
pick up something quickly.”
“I, I wasn’t thinking of that,” she managed to answer. It was her
first position since she had been graduated from business school,
so of course it was the first time she had lost one, and now it
swept over her, like an on-rushing tide, that she was outside of the
organization; she was no longer a part of the Lurtiss Airplane Company.
She swallowed, bravely endeavoring to buck up or snap out of her
depression, but it wasn’t easy.
“No, surely you weren’t. Sit down a moment and collect yourself. This
financial mess is likely to adjust itself overnight, then the whole
works will be booming again. It can’t be anything more than temporary,
and in a few weeks you’ll be back again. You’ll be the first one
recalled, for your service has been excellent, excellent.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Trowbridge--”
“There’s a lot of pick-up work. Odds and ends; people hiring planes
for trips and business purposes. With Nike you can find plenty to do.
If I may make a suggestion, I’d say do some of that sort of thing
temporarily--but--then,” he glanced at her and frowned. “You probably
won’t want to see one of us again, ever--”
“I’ll be glad to come back whenever you have a place for me,” she told
him hastily. Mr. Trowbridge was feeling so miserable that Roberta was
sorry for him and tried to cheer him up.
“That’s great. Knew you were not the sore-head kind. You can understand
how things _will_ happen--”
“I guess I don’t very well, but I am sure you have all been most kind
to me. I’d rather be dismissed because of reducing expenses than
because I didn’t do my job well. Mr. Howe was in this morning. Did he
say anything about the work he wanted done?”
“Well, er, he did mention it, but I believe he left for Washington and
I don’t know when he’ll be back. He can get your address from us any
time he wants it, or you could send him a note--”
“Guess I won’t do that, but I will leave the address, thank you.”
She wrote it down for him and was glad to be able to do something
for a moment. “If he wants me he can find me easily enough. You have
been mighty kind--I’m wondering if--if it will seem--that is, I wish
you would tell the others that I appreciate--I--somehow I don’t feel
exactly like saying goodbye to them--”
“I’ll be glad to. They will understand.” Mr. Trowbridge answered so
quickly that she was a little startled at his readiness, but that, too,
passed out of her mind immediately.
“I’ll get Nike--”
“One of the boys will fix her up for you, and any time you want her
given an overhauling, drop down here. She’ll be taken care of the same
as usual; we’d feel neglected if you did not permit us to do that for
you.” He tried to smile, but the effort was not much of a success.
“Thank you--” Quickly she faced about and hurried out of the office,
closing the door after her much more softly than Mr. Wallace had done a
few minutes before. She did not notice as she made her way to the big
entrance, but before she got half way to the hangar, she met Phil.
“Oh, here you are, say” he stopped short. “What’s the matter, Roberta,
you look as if you’d seen a ghost!”
“I’m all right,” she answered and blinked furiously.
“Where you going?” demanded Phil.
“Home.”
“Let me take you.” He swung in beside her.
“Thank you, I’m going alone--Oh, it’s all right, I mean I’m all right,
but, well, Mr. Trowbridge just told me about the--”
“About the what?”
“He told me the firm has to let some of its pilots go, and I am one of
them.” Phil stopped short, caught her arm and swung her around so that
she faced him.
“What the heck are you talking about?” he demanded.
“I just lost my job and I guess I am making an awful boob of myself.”
She forced her lips into a good imitation of a smile.
“I say, you are full of--quit kidding--”
“I am not kidding, Phil.”
“You mean to say Trowbridge just told you that you can’t work here any
more,” he persisted.
“Yes I do,” she answered. “So long, Phil.”
“I say, wait a minute, while I look into this,” he called, but a plane
was roaring onto the field and the noise of the motor drowned his voice
so the girl did not hear. Her throat choked as she hurried to get away,
and after staring at her a few minutes, young Fisher, his forehead
puckered in a deep frown, strode toward the office, and met Trowbridge
just coming out. “What’s the big idea?” he demanded.
“You mean about Miss Langwell?”
“Of course,” Phil snapped.
“Howe has some sort of idea that he wants to put into operation. He
believes that it will help him capture a choice collection of bandits
and he thinks some of them will make use of Miss Langwell, so she’s in
the Government employ really, but she doesn’t know it.”
“It sounds blamed putrid to me,” Phil declared, and he started down the
steps.
“Give it a trial, Phil, for it’s a whale of a thing,” the man urged.
“We don’t any of us think much of the plan, but she promised to help
him and probably his way is best.”
“Well--” Just then the familiar roar of Nike’s engine announced that
their Girl Sky Pilot was on her way home, and if Roberta could have had
an inkling of that conversation, it would have brightened the outlook
of everything for weeks to come. But she was blissfully unconscious
that she was playing a part, and life seemed to be of the deepest
indigo.
It took Nike only a short time to get her young owner home and to her
own new hangar. The Langwells lived on the outskirts of one of Long
Island’s many small towns, east of the flying field on a part of an
ancient farm. There were several acres in the property and since they
had become interested in aviation, Harvey and his sister had built a
house for their planes out of an old barn. They had smoothed off a fair
runway, not as good, of course, as those on the regulation fields, but
it was fairly smooth and perfectly safe for landing and taking-off.
Nike was brought down in a perfect three-point and mechanically the
girl glanced at the wind-sock fluttering under the old weather-cock.
There was a catch in the girl’s throat when she unlocked the long
sliding doors and assured herself that her brother’s plane, the Falcon,
which that young man rarely used since he was back at college, was
properly placed so her own machine could be run in easily. While she
was attending to the task she heard the house door open, and realized
that her mother was probably coming out to learn why she was home so
early. With a determined effort she shook off the gloom, or at least
its outward appearance, so when Mrs. Langwell appeared she was greeted
by a smiling young daughter.
“’Lo, Mummy,” she called.
“All right, my dear?”
“Top hole. As soon as I lock the door I’ll be in with you,” she
answered with a disarming cheeriness.
“May I help?”
“Sure, tell me if I’m getting too close to the Falcon’s wings.”
“You have plenty of space.” Presently the two machines were locked in
to exchange confidences if they felt so disposed, while Roberta and
her mother walked arm in arm to the house. “I suppose you have to take
someone in the morning and that is why you have brought Nike home for a
visit.”
“No, that’s a wrong guess, Mummy.” They went into the house and Mrs.
Langwell glanced anxiously at the girl.
“Sure you are all right, dear?”
“Fine as silk. Fact is, Mummy, the stock-market slump has hit some
of our directors, hard, and the company has to reduce expenses. Mr.
Trowbridge told me when I came back with my passenger this afternoon.”
“The stock-market slump; why, that was months ago!”
“I don’t know much about it except what I heard you and Dad saying last
fall. Is it possible that it still affects business?” Roberta didn’t
ask because she was at all interested in the “Bulls and Bears of Wall
Street,” but just for the sake of talking. She removed her flying coat
and hat and hung them, with a sigh, in the hall closet, wondering a
bit sadly how soon she would use them again. She knew that she simply
couldn’t leave the beloved Nike idle in the hangar; she would certainly
take it out for pleasure, but that was different from being really a
part of the great force of men and women aiding in the world’s grand
and almost brand new industry.
“Probably,” her mother answered. “Your father was saying only a few
nights ago that a good many big business men have gone on with their
projects confident that the financial situation would improve, but
while it is getting better, the growth is slow and any number of them
have had to drop out.”
“Dad didn’t get hit, did he?”
“No dear, he has some stock in various concerns but it is not the kind
that fluctuates with an erratic market.”
“Mr. Trowbridge suggested that I pick up some odds and ends for a while
and probably in a few weeks things will be better with the company
and I can go back. He was sort of shot up when he told me,” Roberta
explained.
“I’ll be mighty glad to have my girl home with me for a while,” Mrs.
Langwell smiled.
“And it will not be hard on my own feelings, to stay,” she laughed.
“I’ve been thinking I may go in for some record-breaking flights--”
“My dear--” her mother protested.
“I don’t mean stunts; just long distance hops.”
“But will Nike carry gas enough for trips?”
“She’ll go a lot, Mummy. You know Nike has been a sort of pet of Mr.
Wallace’s and he’s put all sorts of improvements into her. She’s a
top-notch bird and no one except us and a few men in the company really
know how capable she is, and we’re not telling.”
“Suppose you stay home for a day or two anyway before you fly off from
the nest, Honey,” her mother pleaded.
“All right. Tell you what, I’ll take you joy-riding around the skies,”
she promised and although Mrs. Langwell made no objection and fully
appreciated that flying was a splendid means of travel, she just could
not think of herself as a successful joy-rider.
That evening when Mr. Langwell reached home he heard the news with some
surprise and questioned Roberta closely. However, he did not make any
guesses and did his best to cheer her up.
“You have been most fortunate, my dear, as a young business woman,
and this is the first time you have lost a position, so it seems more
tragic than anything else in the world, but as you gain experience
you will understand that almost any enterprise has its ups and downs,
the downs often being in the majority. Sudden changes are frequently
necessary. Just figure up your assets; you have Nike, an A-One license,
know how to be a good secretary in case you cannot get a pilot’s berth,
some money in the savings bank--”
“And health,” her mother added.
“And the best family in the world,” Roberta laughed. “My goodness, when
I come to count my blessings they mount up to the skies, almost.”
“That’s the way to look at it,” her father encouraged. “Life is not all
a path of roses, and sometimes even the roses have thorns. When things
run along too smoothly one gets careless and unprepared to face the
rough places.”
“Guess it is like flying,” Roberta answered. “You have to keep alert
for the pockets, bumps, and cliffs, besides watching the machinery, if
you don’t want a smash.”
“That’s the idea. I know your mother will be happy if you remain
grounded for a while, and I am sure that if I try hard, I can bear up
under it,” he grinned mischievously.
“Dad, you are a fraud,” the girl laughed heartily.
“As long as my efforts are not flat tires I’ll survive that,” he
retorted, and after that the fact that she had lost her position was
dismissed, the three spent a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Before she
hopped into bed that night, Roberta glanced at the converted hangar and
couldn’t suppress a little sigh.
“As a good sport, I am something of a flat tire myself,” she said
softly and was about to turn away from the window when she thought
she caught sight of something moving slowly along the door. Instantly
forgetting sleepiness she stared hard for fully a minute until she
convinced herself that there was something there. “It may be a dog,”
she told herself, for although the Langwells didn’t have one, most of
the neighbors did, and at night the beasts were given to prowling about
the community.
Watching a bit longer the girl came to the conclusion that if it was
a dog the beast was behaving oddly. She didn’t recall ever seeing one
move so stealthily. She reasoned that it might be getting ready to
pounce on something, but in the darkness she couldn’t see a thing it
could be after. If it was a man, a prowler, what was he doing near the
hangar? Her heart leaped to her throat as she thought of Nike poised
inside beside the Falcon, but certainly no one would dream of trying
to steal the ancient plane belonging to her brother, for its days of
usefulness were practically over. Yet, she was sure that no one knew
that her own prize machine rested behind that door. The huddled bunch
of blackness moved forward, gave a little leap, and she leaned over the
sill.
“Sure, it’s a dog. Probably one of the big ones on a neighborly tour
of investigation.” She watched a bit longer, and was just about to get
into bed when she spied a thin streak of light, like a carefully shaded
flash, that cast a faint glow on the ground. Then it began to travel
swiftly up toward the lock and to her straining ears came the faintest
sound of scraping. Quick as a thought Roberta threw on a robe, jammed
her feet into her slippers as she hurried across the room, then raced
to her Father’s door, where she knocked.
“Dad, dad,” she called softly.
“My dear, what is the matter?” Mrs. Langwell had heard and leaped out
of bed in fright before her husband was fully awake. Her hand moved
along the wall for the electric switch, but Roberta placed her own over
it quickly.
“Don’t, Mummy,” she whispered.
“What is the matter, Berta?” her father asked. He was wide awake now
and up beside her. “Are you sick?”
“No, Dad, but someone is trying to get into the hangar!”
“To get into the hangar?”
“Yes, I saw someone moving by the door and watched it. Thought it was a
dog, then whoever it is turned on a little light by the opening,” she
explained excitedly.
“No one would try to steal the planes, either of them, dear, it would
make too much noise,” he protested.
“If they get the door open they could muffle the machine a bit, roll it
out and get away,” she insisted.
“That is so,” he admitted.
“They would not have to take it far before they start the engine, then
they can get off in it. Nike doesn’t need any warming up--”
“That’s so. Come into your room.” The adults’ own sleeping quarters
did not face the rear, so the old barn could not be seen or watched
from their windows.
“You must be careful, both of you,” Mrs. Langwell urged anxiously.
“We will.” He had already gotten into his own shoes, which he did not
stop to tie, while his wife handed him his bath robe, which was dark
colored and warm.
“Come along.” The pair, with Mrs. Langwell following in the distance,
proceeded quickly. In a moment they were at the window, and there was
no doubting the fact that prowlers of some kind were working to open
the door. The light shone in a faint round circle over the lock, and
a figure, which looked tall and grotesque, was busy with a tool. So
far as they could see, only one person was at the hangar but they were
reasonably sure that at least one guard was on duty to warn the robber
if necessary.
“I’m going out--.” Mr. Langwell caught her quickly.
“Do nothing of the kind,” he ordered firmly. “Get me that old shotgun
out of the closet. Be careful of it.”
“All right.” She flew swiftly to the place where her father stored all
sorts of odds and ends, including an ancient double-barreled shotgun
which had been one of his treasures when he was a young man. Since the
children had grown up it had been kept loaded and both of them had been
taught how to handle it without danger. Quickly Roberta took it from
its hooks and hurried back to her father.
“Thank you. Stand back.” He rested the long barrel on the sill, the
sight trained on the barn, then, without an unnecessary sound, he
pulled the trigger, first one, then the other. There was a loud report,
followed instantly by a hail of lead which crackled as it spattered
over a wide surface.