FLYING THROUGH THE NIGHT
Just twenty-four hours after she had stood disconsolate before the
airport depot, watching giant man-made birds sail away into the blue
sky, Florence stood, traveling bag in hand, all radiant, waiting for her
silver ship to wheel into position for flight. Beside her stood Danby
Force and the little French girl. Danby too was going. It was to be a
night flight. “All the more thrilling!” had been Jeanne’s instant
prediction. “Flying by night! Seeming to play among the stars! Ah, what
could be more delightful!”
Rosemary Sample, whose plane did not go out until the following morning,
was there to see them off. So too, quite dried out from the previous
night’s adventure, was Willie VanGeldt.
Florence found herself thrilled to the very tips of her toes. As a blue
and gold plane with three motors thundering glided away, then with a
roar of thunder rose in air, as a small yellow one followed it into the
sky, she counted the moments that remained before the number of her own
plane should be called and she, walking with all the care-free
indifference of the much air-traveled lady (which she was not at all),
should march to the three iron steps leading to the plane and climb on
board.
“You may think it strange,” Danby was saying to Jeanne, “that we should
go to so much trouble to catch one industrial spy, and a lady at that.”
“But no!” Jeanne exclaimed. “Lady spies, they are the most clever and
most difficult of all. The great and terrible war proved that.”
“Yes,” Danby agreed. “And in this peace-time war of industry, when great
secrets are being guarded, secrets that might win or lose another great
war—which, please God, there may never be—the ladies bear watching, I
assure you.
“And there _are_ secrets,—” his tone became animated. “Chemical secrets
that have made work for thousands, secret processes for heat-treating
steel that have revolutionized an entire industry.”
“And secrets that give us better and more beautiful dresses. Ah!” Jeanne
laughed a merry laugh. “This is the most wonderful secret of all. For
where there is color there is beauty. Beauty brings happiness. Life must
be beautiful. So—o, my good friend—” She put forth a slender hand—“I
wish you luck! May you and my good friend Florence catch those so very
wicked spies and may they be shot at sunrise!
“And now,” her tone changed, “I must say adieu, for see! There is your
silver ship wheeling into position. Do not be surprised if some day you
see my own little dragon fly coming to light on the top of your flag
pole or the landing field nearby.
“And now, Florence!” She gave her good pal a merry poke. “Shoulders up,
eyes smiling, the good and jaunty air. Tell the world that this is
nothing new. And _bon voyage_ to you both. I shall be seeing you. And I
shall be watching, always watching for that dark lady, the most terrible
spy.”
Smiling, Florence touched her lips to Jeanne’s fair brow, then putting
on her very best air of indifference, which was very good indeed,
marched to her plane, climbed the steps, then sank into a soft low seat
to let forth a sigh that was half relief and half deep abiding joy.
Having seen them off, Jeanne went in search of her flying gypsies. They
had planned to join in a reunion of their tribe a hundred miles away.
Jeanne was to fly them there.
“Now,” said Willie VanGeldt when he and Rosemary were alone, “You said
last night you would not fly with me. Why not?”
“Because—” an intent look overspread Rosemary’s usually smiling face.
“Because you are grown up, and yet you insist on playing about, on
making life a joke and because flying with you is not safe.”
“Not safe!” He stared. “I’ve a pilot’s license. Didn’t get it with a
pull either. Earned it, I did.”
“I’m not questioning that,” she went on soberly. “All the same, it’s
flyers like you who are spoiling this whole aviation business. Look at
me—I’m a worker. Being a flying stewardess is my job. I work at it every
month in the year. The pilots and their helpers, the mechanics in our
shops, the radio men on duty all day, every day, depend on it for their
living and the support of their families. Together we hope to make our
transportation safe, comfortable and inexpensive for all. We—”
“Well, I—”
“No! Let me finish,” she insisted. “Look at our planes. Sixty of them,
cost seventy thousand dollars apiece. Multiply that and see what it
comes to. Shows that men with money believe in us.
“See how those planes are cared for. Looked over in every port. Least
thing wrong, out they go. Motors taken off and overhauled every three
hundred hours. Always in perfect condition.
“And you—” there was a rising inflection in her voice. “You go round the
world proclaiming to all the world that life is a joke and that
airplanes are grand, good playthings. You flirt with death. And in the
end death will get you. Then thousands will say, ‘See! Flying is _not_
safe!’ See what I mean?”
“Well, I—”
“Tell you what!” she exclaimed. “It’s a safe guess you don’t even know
when your motor was last overhauled and cleaned.”
“No, I—” the play-boy was not smiling now. “Well now, Miss Sample, you
see this crack-up has cost a lot of money. So I—”
“So you ask me to risk my life flying with you. And I say ‘No!’
“I—I’ll have to be going.” Her tone changed. “Got a report to make out.
I’ll be seeing you. And I only hope it won’t be under a high bank of cut
flowers.”
She was gone, leaving Willie staring.
“Queer sort of girl!” he grumbled after a time. “But I—she sure is a
good one!
“She might be right at that,” he murmured as he left the building.
For Florence, speeding away through space with the stars above and the
earth below, that was a never-to-be-forgotten night. First the broad
expanse of the city’s gleaming lights and after that, in sharp contrast,
deep, sullen blue below that suggested eternity of space.
“We’re over the lake,” Danby Force smiled. “Way over there is the light
of a ship.”
“And still farther there is another,” Florence replied. “How rapidly we
leave those lights behind! How strange to be speeding along through the
night.”
Soon the deep blue below changed to varying shadows. They were over land
once more. The panorama that passed beneath them never lost its charm.
Here, faintly glowing, were the lights of a tiny village. Were they
asleep, those people? Probably not. Too early for that. Some were
reading, some studying, some playing games, those simple kindly people
who live in small villages.
The village vanished and only a single light, here and there, like
reflections of the stars, told where farm houses stood. A city loomed
into sight, then passed on into the unknown.
“It’s like life,” Florence said soberly. “We are always passing from one
unknown to another.
“And speaking of unknowns—” her voice changed. “Do you think the
industrial spy who is still in your employ is a man or a woman?”
“We have no means of knowing.” Danby spoke soberly. “To find this out if
you can, this is to be part of your task.”
“If I can,” Florence whispered to herself, after a time.
So they rode on through the night. Danby Force seldom spoke. This riding
in an airplane appeared to cast a spell of silence over him. Perhaps, at
times, he slept. Florence could not tell. She did not sleep. The
experience was too novel for that. Twice she caught the gleam of colored
lights and knew they were meeting another plane. She tried to imagine
what it would be like when everyone traveled by air. But would that time
come? Who could tell?
It was still dark when Danby Force, after looking at his watch, said:
“We’ll be there in ten minutes. You shall go to my house for ten winks
of sleep.”
True to his prediction, the plane went roaring down to a small landing
field. They disembarked, were met by a small man in a green uniform and
were led to a powerful car. Having taken their places in the back seat,
they were whirled away to at last mount a hill by a winding road and
stop before a tall gray stone house surrounded by very tall trees.
“My mother and I live here,” Danby said. “I should prefer greater
simplicity, but a beautiful old lady you call ‘mother’ must always be
humored.” Florence could have loved him for that speech.
She understood more clearly what he meant when, once inside the wide
reception room, they were met by a butler and a white-capped maid
whisked her away to a spacious bedroom all fitted up with massive
furniture.
Sleep came at once. Before she realized it a rosy dawn ushered in
another day. “What shall this day bring forth?” she murmured as, with a
chill and a thrill, she leaped from her bed to do a dozen setting-up
exercises, and at last to dress herself in her most business-like
costume.
“Mademoiselle the detective,” she laughed as she looked in the mirror.
“I surely don’t look the part.”