Chapter Eleven

An Unexpected Delay

The airport was ablaze with light when the car pulled up at the administration building, which meant that Mrs. Van Verity Vanness' special plane was about to land.

Jane thanked the driver and hastened into the operations office on the first floor. A teletype was clicking out the latest weather reports and the radio operator was busy giving the pilot of the special plane final information on the wind and visibility at Cheyenne.

Miss Comstock, who had been talking to the night chief of operations, turned to Jane.

"I was afraid we weren't going to locate you," the chief stewardess said, visibly relieved at Jane's arrival. "This is an important trip and I knew I could count on you to make a good impression."

The night operations chief joined them.

"This special is going through ahead of everything," he told Jane, "and we can't have it delayed if Mrs. Van Verity Vanness gets air sick and they have to slow the schedule or set the ship down at some field to wait until she feels better. In other words, it's up to you to see that she is so comfortable from now on and so busy she won't have time to think about complaining."

"Is she ill now?"

"Salt Lake said she looked like a ghost and Rock Springs just cussed when I asked him how she looked. One thing, we're going to get that special off this field and from then on it's up to you to see that Mrs. Van Verity Vanness holds together until we land in Chicago."

Charlie Fischer strolled in and glanced at the weather report coming in on the teletype.

"Plenty of visibility and a good tail wind. I'm going to take that three-engined demon up where there's plenty of room and ride it for all it's worth. You can put me down for about 160 miles an hour from here to Omaha," he told the night operations chief.

"If you can do that, you'll whittle better than half an hour off the schedule we've worked out," said the night chief.

Charlie turned to Jane.

"You going along?" he asked.

"It's my first regular trip."

"Means extra ballast," grumbled Charlie.

"Extra ballast nothing," retorted the night chief. "Our billion-dollar passenger is air sick and unless we put a stewardess aboard and get Mrs. Van Verity Vanness feeling better pronto, this flight will be a washout and about $10,000 will fly out of this airway's sock and you can imagine how the general manager would like that."

"You mean we're getting $10,000 for this trip across the country?" asked Charlie incredulously.

"She paid before she started the trip in 'Frisco, but if we don't land her in New York on time she'll stop payment on the check. So when you're in the air tonight just bend an ear to whatever this little lady has to say, for if you do some rough flying and the G. M. hears about it, one Charlie Fischer will have a lot of explaining to do."

"The special's coming in right now," called the radio operator. They turned to the full-length windows which looked out on the field. The wing lights of the plane were swooping down and a moment later the big ship rolled down the runway and nosed toward the hangar.

"I've got a complete kit ready," Miss Comstock told Jane. "There's plenty of salad and hot coffee, fresh fruit, and I put in an extra thermos bottle of bouillon. I imagine your passenger is nervous and scared as much as anything. Make her comfortable and talk to her. Remember that the reputation of the stewardess service may depend on your work tonight."

Almost before the tri-motor had stopped rolling the ground crew, enlarged to speed the refueling of the special, was swarming over the plane. Only five minutes had been allowed for the Cheyenne stop and it meant fast work on the part of every man.

Jane and Miss Comstock hastened toward the cabin. As they reached it the co-pilot threw open the door.

"For heaven's sake, hurry," he begged. "I'm afraid this woman is going to faint."

Jane got a glimpse of the white, drawn face of Mrs. Van Verity Vanness and she knew that she was going to be in for some busy minutes. The landing stage was wheeled up to the plane and Jane hurried into the cabin. The one passenger aboard the special was clinging to the co-pilot and Jane gently disengaged her arms and placed them about her own shoulders.

Mrs. Van Verity Vanness was sobbing softly. "I'll never be able to go on. I'm too ill."

Jane didn't argue with her, but with the aid of Miss Comstock, helped the passenger out of the plane and into the cool, sweet night air. It was then that she got her first good look at the woman she was to care for on the trip to Chicago.

Mrs. Van Verity Vanness was between sixty-five and seventy. The cheeks were still full and bore few wrinkles, but the hands gave away the fact that Mrs. Van Verity Vanness was well past middle age.

"I can't walk. Don't make me," she begged.

"We'll only take a few steps," said Jane, her own strong arms supporting the older woman. "Breath deeply and enjoy the air. Don't think about flying."

"But I've got to get to New York." There was a sob in the older woman's voice, and she shuddered as she looked at the hulking tri-motor. Even a thought of returning to the plane struck terror into her heart.

Jane turned to Miss Comstock and whispered a suggestion.

"Don't let them start the motors until I give the signal," she said. "It may take quite a while to get her calm, but once she's back in the plane I think I'll be able to manage."

Miss Comstock nodded and hurried away while Jane guided her elderly passenger toward the stewardess' quarters. There, well away from the rush and confusion of the hangar, she made her comfortable while she put a pot of tea on the electric grill in the commissary. Within five minutes Jane had tea and wafers ready on a silver tray. She talked gaily about everything except flying and Mrs. Van Verity Vanness began to show a new interest in living. The tea was delicious and the wafers were appetizing. The wealthy passenger of the special drank two cups of tea and ate five of the wafers.

Jane heard a tap on the window and looked up to see Charlie Fischer making horrible faces at her and pointing toward his watch. The tri-motor was at least seven minutes late now. Jane must do something at once.

She picked up the tea tray and started for the commissary.

"If you could go with me, I might attempt to continue the journey," said Mrs. Van Verity Vanness. "I can't bear the thought of going on alone."

"But I am going with you," replied Jane. "Didn't they tell you?"

"No. Those pilots only flew faster and faster and I got sicker and sicker."

"We'll let them fly as fast as they want to," smiled Jane, "just as long as they have smooth weather. There's a delicious lunch, late papers and some magazines aboard the plane now. We'll return to the hangar, make ourselves comfortable in the plane, and tell them to go ahead. We'll be almost ten minutes late leaving here."

"I'll go on," agreed the woman of millions, "but only because you are going with me."

Without showing too much haste, Jane shepherded her passenger into the tri-motor. Charlie Fischer, still looking at his watch, gave her a black look as he climbed into the cockpit.

Jane made Mrs. Van Verity Vanness comfortable in chair No. 6, and then stepped back to the door where Miss Comstock was peering in. "Everything all right?" asked the chief stewardess.

"She's perfectly calm now," replied Jane. "I'm sure we'll make Chicago all right."

"The general manager is fairly burning up the radio trying to find out about the delay here."

"You can tell him that it took us the extra time to persuade Mrs. Van Verity Vanness to continue the trip," said Jane.

"Good-bye and good luck," said Miss Comstock as she closed the door. Jane made sure that the door was latched securely, stowed the hamper of food away in the pantry, and then hastened up to take a seat beside her passenger.

The motors roared and the plane quivered to the pulse of their power. Mrs. Van Verity Vanness paled as the plane rolled forward, but Jane took the hands of the elderly woman and held them in her own. Almost before they knew it the plane was in the air, streaking away into the east in the race to make up the lost time.