was a long silence.
“I hate the idea of him going in an aeroplane. He’s never done any flying.”
“Have you?”
“No.”
“I suppose that’s why you’re so afraid of it for him.”
“I suppose so.”
Sir David said: “You’d better make the best of it and let him go. If you stick your toes in you can probably stop him, and you might be sorry all your life. Cyril’s more set on this thing than anything I can remember in the last ten years. You’d better make the best of it, and be a sport.”
She said irritably: “It’s all that wretched pilot, I believe. He wasn’t half so definite about it all before the pilot came. He just talked Daddy into it.”
Her uncle was doubtful. “Your father was very set on it when last I talked to him. I don’t think it’s anything new.”
There was a little pause.
“If only I could feel that he’d be well looked after if he did get ill …” she said.
“Well, that’s a real point, I admit. Let’s see now if we can’t get over that.”
On Monday morning Ross left Guildford by an early train. He was depressed about the whole affair, but he had heard nothing from Lockwood and so his arrangement to go to Coventry held good. He got to the works at about half-past eleven and was shown into Mr. Hanson’s office.
The secretary met him with a smile. “I think you willbe able to go straight ahead to-day, Mr. Ross,” he said. “I have drafted this letter of engagement. If you would read it through now, I will have it re-typed for Sir David to sign.”
The pilot sat down with the letter. A flood of relief swept over him; it was quite all right. He had got the job. Now he had a straight run of well-paid, interesting work to get his teeth into—a hard job, maybe, but not more than he could manage. He would increase his reputation if he pulled this off successfully.
He read the letter carefully. “That’s quite in order,” he said. “That covers everything.”
“All right. Sir David will sign it this afternoon.” The secretary put it with the other papers on his desk. “Now you will want to get to work, I expect. I hear you’re going to have another passenger.”
The pilot stared at him. “Who’s that?”
“Miss Lockwood. I understand she’s going with her father.”
AN OLD CAPTIVITY
III
F OR a minute the pilot sat silent, stunned by this announcement. He had the good sense to say nothing till he had reflected a little. He did not want to lose a good job, but he couldn’t possibly take that infernal girl in the machine with them. The flight would be difficult enough in any case; with her nagging at his elbow all the time it would become impossible.
He said quietly at last: “I hadn’t reckoned on that. That makes it very difficult.”
The secretary was genuinely surprised; he took off his eyeglasses. “Why is that? I understand that the machine was to be a seven-seater.”
Ross was accustomed to dealing with the uninformed.He said patiently: “It’s designed to carry seven people on short hauls, when you don’t have to lift much fuel. But this is different. I shall have to carry petrol for fifteen hundred miles on some of these hops, if we’re going to be safe. There’s going to be mighty little load to play about with when you’re carrying that weight of fuel. An extra passenger means you can take less petrol.”
“I see. I hadn’t realised that there would be that difficulty.”
The pilot bit his lip. “It’s not the only one.”
“What other difficulties are there, Mr. Ross?”
“There’s the accommodation. I’d only reckoned to take one tent.”
“But you can take another tent?”
“Surely, but it all weighs more. There’s her emergency rations, and her sleeping bag and luggage, and her seat. They all put up the weight, and that means less fuel still.”
He paused. “I’d like to think this over, Mr. Hanson, before deciding one way or the other. It’s a pretty serious thing to have to take a passenger upon a
1802-1870 Alexandre Dumas