LITMIR.BIZ

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the resting place of his famous flyer Windjammer, on a level, firm plot of ground well back from the lighthouses and the sand hills.

      "Gee, boys, you don't know how glad I am to have you," he said as they trotted along. "Nothin' like fifteeners for pep, and we'll all pep together. I've got a sort of holiday at present. Turner's busy on some maps and photos, so our operations are held up for a spell. I've just got a job as lighthouse inspector on the coast, but don't count on their calling on ​me just yet, or my calling on them, rather. By the way, which of you kids is a shark on mathematics?"

      "I pass," Cat hastened to proclaim—an announcement that he had occasion to regret later. "I flunked on that Pons Asinorum, and I've never understood a thing about Geometry since. You flunked, too, Jimmy. Old Whiskers got red in the face trying to rub it into our heads, didn't he?"

      Whiskers, so called because of his sideburns, was the lads' teacher in High School, and the pupils had facetiously dubbed the rawboned nag on which he solemnly took his exercise after school hours, "Hypotenuse."

      "I swear I b'lieve Hypo knows a lot more math, than I do," conceded Jimmy, "just from old Whiskers bouncing up and down on him."

      This drew a laugh from all the boys, in which Hardy joined after being informed of the nature and constitution of Hypotenuse.

      "Here's your shark," continued Jimmy, pulling Legs forward. "He's wading into Trig, and eating it up. All his sense is not in his feet, though you might think so."

      ​"Just wanted to know," declared Hardy, when Legs protested against Jimmy's estimate of his knowledge. "Now I want to know, too, who goes up with me and who's going to make the coast guard happy. You're the unselfish kid, Cat. You want to take the motor?"

      "Sure I do," agreed Cat grinning, and at the same time kicking Jimmy's shins when that young man seemed on the point of opening his mouth to contradict him. "I don't need any air-rides to-day. I'm fresh from one."

      And he proceeded to repeat what he had told his friends on the electric train.

      "Well, I'll be hanged if you ain't your father's own son," was Hardy's comment when the boy had finished his story. "We'll have to give you a brass medal to chime in with your actions. Have to get up early in the morning to beat you to it, boy."

      At the compliment, Cat's chest swelled pompously and his eyes danced gleefully.

      "Now, you two," observed Hardy a little later, addressing Legs and Jimmy. "You two who are going up will have to sit in one another's laps. I mean," he laughed, "one will have to ​sit in the other's lap—that's the only way to stow you in. I think, judging by appearances, Jimmy better be the top layer."

      "I never thought of that beanpole having a lap," declared Jimmy. "Get me a microscope, Cat"

      Hardy put an end to the disturbance that threatened, and continued, "Now, see here, you two fellows who haven't been initiated, like your friend Cat, may feel a little wriggly for a minute or two, but you'll soon get over it. Keep this in mind: Flying is regular life insurance compared to dodging autos in any big city, and remember it's how a fellow shows up in a new experience that proves what sort of stuff he's got in him. Listen to what Service says. You know Service, the war poet?

      'When your legs seem made o' jelly

       And you're squeamish in your belly,

       And you want to turn about and do a bunk,

       For Tom's sake, kid, don't show it,

       Don't let your mateys know it,

       You're just sufferin' from funk, funk, funk.'

       Get that! I put the Tom in to suit this present ​occasion and audience. Grab hold o' that sentiment and swallow it. Hear? "

      "Didn't need that to give me backbone," affirmed Jimmy.

      "Reckon I can go anywhere Jimmy can," was Legs's conclusion in a feebler tone.

      When the group reached the famous Windjammer the lads raised a wild whoop and set to examining her in every detail while her owner held forth on her various excellencies.

      "Now," said he as he finished his lecture, "time to be off. Here, put those on," he directed his passengers, fishing out goggles and headgear. "You, Cat, will meet the coast guard in front of the lighthouse about fifteen minutes from now. Don't let the motorcycle jar all the pep out of you. Want some left for the jamboree to-night, hear? "

      "Oh, gee!" exclaimed Cat. "What's doing? "

      "Oh, just a little roughhouse, with extra choice eats stored in my bird's gizzard there. Smell a rat, do you, Cat?" added Hardy, giving the boy a swift kick as he attempted to peep into the cockpit. "Take your nose out of there. ​Off with you. And now, Legs, old boy, your time's come. Get in the electric chair and be strapped. Don't look so green about the gills. You'll live to tell the tale. Remember Service. Crawl in!"

      Legs cast his eyes into the well, and, apparently satisfied that it had a solid bottom, straddled in and took his seat.

      "Keep your fingers crossed," laughed Hardy. "Knock on wood, and keep your eyes open for black cats, and nothing will happen to you. Come along, Jimmy."

      He grabbed him by the seat of his breeches and speeded him in, while Cat was directed to help with the straps, a duty undertaken with such enthusiasm as to draw various gasps and punches from his victims.

      Hardy meanwhile gave Windjammer's motor a final inspection, singing softly to himself,

      "I'll make you rumble,

      Across the sky,

       And if I don't tumble,

      I'll live till I die."

      Then, assured that his passengers were safely stowed and leathered, he fixed himself in the ​pilot's seat and directed Cat and another bystander to start his propeller and give his bird a shove. In a few moments, the crew had left the cheering Cat below and were soaring up the heavens.

      Every drop of blood in their bodies seemed to be tingling to the tips of their ears when the taxying came to an end and the new flyers felt the machine rising. Legs wrapped his arms around Jimmy 's chest in the convulsive hug of a drowning man, while the latter clutched the edge of the well, an interminable "Gee-e-e-e!" flowing from his lips.

      "Say, Legs, the ground's sinking!" he faltered out after some moments.

      There was a tense silence on the part of the boy beneath him.

      "I b'lieve you're scared," persisted Jimmy with a quiver in his tone. "Great Caesar's ghost! Stop squeezing the life out of me."

      Continued silence on the part of the under lad.

      "Dizzy?" persisted the tormentor.

      "Naw!" finally returned Legs, with affected composure.

      "Me neither. Duck your head, Legs. Going ​to butt into the moon in a minute. Want me to cut off a piece of green cheese for you?"

      "Quit talking and let me look," countered the unhappy Legs.

      "Doesn't that motor jar! Just like one of those vibrators you put to the back of your neck." Jimmy babbled on, principally to keep up his own nerve. "Ain't this a grand and glorious feeling! Say, Legs, don't the ocean look funny through these goggles!"

      "I'm looking!" quavered Legs.

      Another silence as the bird rose to the desired altitude and the pilot, by a swift shift of his levers, sent her shooting on a bee line.

      "All O. K.?" he shouted. "Not scared, are you? Sit tight, boys, and don't rock the boat."

      "We're all right," called back Jimmy as spokesman for both, and then to Legs, as he became composed enough to remark some physical discomfort. "Golly, Legs, I swear I b'lieve you sharpened up your knees before we got in; they're jabbing right into my meat like a couple of knife blades. And stop blowing a gale on the back of my neck. You're scared. I can feel the way you're panting."

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