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"I know after thinking this affair over you'll be ready to suggest something." "Well, all airmen should know of the theft of the Drifter, and be on the lookout." "We notified every association and meet in the country after we found that the newspapers had got onto the theft. That advertises it widely. The persons, however, who stole the Drifter knew that would come about.
When a guy meets a girl that he takes a shine to an' the girl takes a shine to him there ain't anything goin' to keep them from makin' a go of it." He reddened a little. "That's what I thought when I saw you. Even when the Drifter was tellin' me about you, I was sure of you." "I think you have shown it in your actions," she laughed.
Running an airship took nerve, steadiness of purpose, a definite, concrete way of looking at things. Dave knew in his own mind that the Drifter was each hour speeding farther and farther away from the haunts of men. He recalled the old adage, however, which says "the more haste the less speed," and he determined to stick to the plan he had mentally outlined at the start.
"That's the King's Messenger going off to the Fleet Flagship. There come the others, strung out in a procession, making for the different squadrons. Wake up, you son of Ham!" The speaker stepped to the lanyard of the syren and jerked it savagely. Obedient to the warning wail another drifter altered course in reluctant compliance with the Rule of the Road.
"Ahoy! what lunatic are you?" "Bluewater Bill of the Eleanor Jones of Bath, castaway," yelled back the drifter in the launch, who had by this time shut off his engine.
She knew the latest slang, danced the latest dances, and talked of the latest songs and plays with all the fervor of her first season as a New York drifter. Her coyness was eternally new, eternally ineffectual; her clothes were extreme; her black hair was bobbed, now, like Gloria's. "I've come up for the midwinter prom at New Haven," she announced, imparting her delightful secret.
Meg knew what her brother meant. So did Mike. "Don't forget that the practical Lampton mind is a jolly good thing. That old drifter won't like living in a tent or a caravan, on twopence a day, when he's sixty!" Freddy lit his cigarette; he had finished breakfast. "You'll come, of course?" His eyes spoke to Mike. "Gad, what a topping morning it is?" "Rather!" Mike said abstractedly.
"Jerry Dawson," was Dave Dashaway's reply. "That is the machine I want, Mr. Randolph," said Dave Dashaway. It was two days after the young aviator had told his friends at Columbus the name of the person he suspected of stealing the aero-hydroplane, the Drifter from the Interstate Aeroplane Company.
Maybe he did have on rough work clothes and look the part of a range drifter. But then when the Coronel had arrived here last night, he had not been too neat either. "A fine horse, señor." Oliveri came on in, now including Drew in his gaze. "I think so, Coronel," Drew returned shortly. He gave a last brush to flank and smoothed the saddle blanket. "From a distance you have brought him, señor?"
The drifter rounded an outlying promontory of one of the islands, and Thorogood raised his hand. "There you are," he said, "there's our little lot!" He indicated with a nod the Battle-fleet of Britain. "And very nice too," said the India-rubber Man, staring in the direction of the other's gaze. "Puts me in mind, as they say, of a picture I saw once. 'National Insurance, I think it was called."
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