They put the young man on the back seat between Miss Campbell and
Elinor, while Mary climbed in front and shared Nancy's seat beside
Chauffeur Billie.
"Where do you want to go?" asked that responsible young woman, waiting
to start the car and addressing the aeroplanist over her shoulder.
"I'm on my way West."
"So are we," interrupted Billie.
"If you put me down at any convenient place along the way, I'll be very
much obliged. I'm going all the way to San Francisco."
"But so are we," cried the girls in one voice. "We're going across the
continent."
The young man smiled for the second time, a charming smile which
radiated his entire face and seemed to kindle two warm fires in his
steady brown eyes.
"In this?" he asked.
"Why not?" Elinor was saying, somewhat on her mettle, when a motor cycle
shot past them, stopped abruptly and a man jumped off and waited beside
the road, signalling to them to stop the car.
"Pardon me, but may I ask if you saw an aeroplane fly past a little
while ago?"
Before Billie, generally the spokesman, could reply, the young stranger
broke in:
"We saw one, but it is out of sight now."
"Ah? Then it didn't fall. I thought I saw it drop. It looked very much
as if he had lost control, but I was too far away to tell."
The man waited, but the four girls and Miss Campbell remained discreetly
silent, and the wrecked aeroplanist leaned out and looked up skyward, as
if he were searching the heavens for the lost airship.
"Although aeroplanes are not very apt to fly about in great numbers,"
went on the man sarcastically, "I see you are not very observant when
they are about. I bid you good-day," and touching his cap with his hand
like a salute, he leaped on his motor cycle and sped down the road in a
cloud of dust.
"Dear me," exclaimed Miss Campbell, "what a crusty individual! But why
not have told him?"
"Because he happens to be my rival," answered the young man. "You see, a
prize has been offered for the one who flies across the continent from
San Francisco to Chicago in the shortest time. Most of the aeroplanists
think the prize is too small for the risk, and so far only a few have
entered. This fellow, Duval, doesn't want any rivals, and he has done
everything he could to disqualify me for the race. He didn't recognize
me, because he's only seen me in leather clothes with goggles and a cap
on. You see, I decided at the last moment this morning to fly westward
as far as I could. I suppose I am a good deal like the Irishman who was
challenged to drink a pail of beer, and went into another room and drank
one first to see if he could."
"But now you have no aeroplane," observed Nancy sadly.
"I have two. The other one was shipped to San Francisco. Duval has a
great many reasons for keeping an eye on me. He wants to find out what
kind of machine I'm going to use. I have kept that a profound secret,
and he wants to know how good I am at flying. You see, no one has ever
heard of me. I have never been to any public meets. I have only
practised--at--at our place."
"But," interrupted Miss Campbell, "do you think you will be able to do
this tremendous thing? Remember what you must cross? Not only the Rocky
Mountains but the desert."
"It's just as easy to fly over a desert as over a prairie," answered the
young man. "Not long ago a man flew from Italy over the Alps. If I
hadn't sneezed this morning, I might have been sailing across the
Illinois boundary this afternoon and been well on my way into Iowa."
Miss Campbell and the girls regarded him curiously. He appeared
exceedingly self-confident and very sensible, but that sneezing business
seemed a little thin.
"Do you mean to say," cried Billie incredulously, "that you expect to
fly across the country without sneezing."
"I hope so," he replied. "It's a dangerous thing to sneeze in any flying
machine, although the one I intend to use is of much finer make than
that thing which just broke down."
Suddenly Nancy began to laugh.
"I believe you are guying us," she said.
The young man flushed.
"It would be a nice return for your kindness."
"Don't be offended," put in Elinor. "She's only teasing, herself."
It was now getting on toward noon. The crisp morning air had sharpened
their appetites and it was agreed to stop at the next village for lunch.
In half an hour they had whirled into the main street of a
prosperous-looking middle-west town.
The motor guide book directed them to Snyder's and they presently pulled
up in front of a large frame building painted white with green shutters.
On the front piazza sat a number of men in armchairs, their feet on the
railing, smoking and reading the morning papers.
Before they had time to get out, the aeroplanist said to Miss Campbell:
"I am deeply obliged to you for your kindness. My name is Peter Van
Vechten. May I have the honor of asking your names?"
There was quite an old-world courtesy about this Peter Van Vechten that
appealed to the little lady, and she promptly introduced her girls and
herself.
Just at this moment a small racing car could be seen coming toward them
at a terrific speed. People and vehicles scattered at its approach, but
just before it reached the Comet it stopped short and a man jumped out
and ran to them.
"All right, Jackson," said Peter Van Vechten. "I suppose you got wind
that the aeroplane was wrecked and had a fright."
"I did, sir, indeed. But a farmer had watched through his glasses and he
saw you get into a motor. Thank heavens, you're safe, sir."
"Through the kindness of these ladies," said Peter. "Is the luggage all
here?"
"It is, sir."
"Then, with your permission, Miss Campbell, I will say good-by. Thank
you again. Perhaps we may meet on the plains."
"What month is the race?" asked Billie.
"In July. It starts the Fourth of July."
"Good-by and good luck to you," they cried, as the departing aeroplanist
leaped into the motor car beside the chauffeur, and in another moment
they were out of sight.
For awhile things seemed rather dull to Miss Campbell and the Motor
Maids, such a romantic halo encircles the head of him who flies through
the air, and this ingratiating Peter Van Vechten, with his reddish hair
and his keen brown eyes, also his polished manners, left a very deep
impression on them all.
The luncheon was poor. It was early dinner, really, with cabbage and
boiled mutton and very stiff-looking mashed potatoes, watery canned peas
and leathery pie for dessert. They were glad to get back to the Comet
again and glad to be on the road.
Already they seemed to have been traveling an endless time. But the
first day of a long journey always affects people in this way. For some
inexplicable reason they were a little homesick. The monotony of this
level country oppressed them, endless green fields, which had once been
vast prairie lands, covered with waving grass and a multitude of wild
flowers.
Late that afternoon, when they stopped for gasoline at a garage in a
thriving little village, a group of men stood about the door talking.
"Escaped in a flying machine?" said one.
"It's an up to date way to fly from justice," put in another.
"Yes, sir; I seen the paper myself at the hotel. He was a first-class
crook, and he left Chicago this morning early in one of the flying
machines at the park, where they have been giving exhibitions. They
telegraphed it all over the country when it was found out. I reckon he's
the smartest crook in the world. The paper says 'he eluded his captors
just as they were about to apprehend him; dashed through the hotel door
and jumped in a taxi. At the park he showed a forged letter signed Peter
Van Vechten, one of the aeroplanists, permitting him the use of one of
the aeroplanes for practice before the exhibition, and in five minutes
he was gone like a bird on the wing. It was only a little while later
that the guardians at the parks found out their mistake. Whether he is
still flying over the country or has lighted in some safe place, no one
knows. So far there is no trace of him whatever.'"
Strange were the sensations of the Motor Maids and Miss Campbell as they
listened to this remarkable tale.
The tank was filled, and Billie, after asking for the right road,
started the machine. It was a silent and rather sad company.
They had traveled more than a hundred miles that day because it had been
their object to leave the Middle West behind them as soon as possible,
for the more romantic regions beyond.
At last Miss Campbell burst out:
"I don't believe it. That nice brown-eyed boy!"
"Neither do we," echoed the others. "It's impossible."
This somewhat relieved their feelings, and when they reached the town
where they had planned to spend the night they were talking cheerfully.
While they were freshening up for supper half an hour later, Miss
Campbell felt in her black silk reticule for her purse, Billie having
paid all bills that day with the ready change with which she had
provided herself.
"My dears," gasped the poor little lady, "where is it?"
"What, Cousin Helen," cried Billie, frightened at the expressions of
doubt and agitation which chased themselves across her relative's face.
"My purse, child! My silver-mounted Morocco purse. I thought I had it in
my reticule, but where is it?"
They emptied the reticule. They looked in their own handbags and even
went to the garage and searched the Comet. But Miss Campbell's purse
containing fifty dollars was gone.
"At any rate, Billie," whispered Nancy that night when they had
stretched themselves wearily on the hardish bed in the hotel, "at any
rate, he had the nicest, kindest brown eyes I ever saw."
"Even now," answered Billie, "there may be some mistake."