Part 2

“Benny, it’s the only thing I’ve ever asked of you; and it means more to me than anything else in the world right now. I’ve _got_ to fly in that race--_got_ to. Benny--Benny--please!”

“Oh, Lord!”

“All you’d have to do is slip into that private locker and take off those overalls, and then stay out of sight. I’d just get in ’em, and climb into the plane, and stay there. Benny--please?”

“You can’t do any good up there--”

“Don’t you know that Ned will fly worlds better if I’m along with him? And you want us to win, don’t you?”

“Oh, Lord!” I said. “Well--here goes!”

Right then she flung her arms around my neck, hugged me close, and kissed me one, two, three times right on the lips, and said, “Oh, Benny!” And after that I wasn’t nearly in my right mind. I dived into the locker, shed my overalls, and eased out again. With one last look at her, I dived into the crowd and lost myself.

Jane hurried into the locker, and in a minute she was out, in my coveralls and helmet and goggles. I could hardly believe my eyes, she looked so much like me! It was sure astonishin’. She eased back toward the planes, just when a guy in a megaphone was shoutin’ the last warnin’. Jane walked right past Ned and Mr. Alton and made for the plane.

“I’ve got to get into the ship!” Ned said. “Say, where’s Jane? Ain’t she goin’ to wish me good luck?”

They looked around for her, while she was within ten feet of ’em.

“Say, Benny, have you seen Jane?” Ned hollered at her; and she wags her head: no!

The last minute is gone; and Ned is forced to his plane. Jane was already in when he got there; he climbs in, not givin’ her any special notice. There is a poppin’ and roarin’ of motors all around, up and down the line. Greaseballs turn the Alton over, and she sings a sweet tune. The whole line-up is stirrin’ up a tornado when _bang!_ a shot-gun goes off--which means the race is started!

The Stormbird tears off like a maniac, lifts, climbs steady, and then deadheads on. Thirty seconds pass, forty, fifty, sixty. Then, _bango!_ the gun goes off again, and the Imp plane stretches itself out across the sand. It lifts, roars, pulls on, and flies in the wake of the Stormbird.

Ned Knight bends to his stick and glues his eyes to the instrument. The seconds are tickin’ off. Forty--fifty--sixty! _Whacko!_ The gun! Ned stomps on the gas. Away goes the Alton. It takes off quick, climbs fast and, roarin’ high, plows into the sky.

And I, back on the field, watch it go with tears in my eyes!

One by one, at sixty-second intervals, the planes take off, and soon they’re parading along the sky, and trailin’ out of sight. Once they’re gone, there is nothin’ to do but wait for reports along the way. The crowd lingers, and I avoid Mr. Alton. He goes to his car; I just float around. What’s happenin’ to Ned and Jane now, I wonder? What’s goin to happen to ’em as they drive across half a dozen states. Are they goin’ to pull onto Long Island and get down to Curtiss first? Oh, Lord!

Well, plenty happened in that plane on the way, and this is what!

Ned Knight concentrated on his controls as he had never concentrated before. In the back seat Jane just sat and enjoyed herself. Little by little the Alton went up to her top speed. With the throttle gradually opened, she tore through the sky screaming. With the wires shrieking, the struts rattling, the whole plane trembling and throbbing, it roared on its way, hell-bent for victory.

The string of planes kept goin’ across the sky spaced like they were at the take off for a while. At the Ohio line one of them began to drop, and took to the ground, disabled, and disqualified, ’cause the race was a non-stop affair. Another one soon followed. Others began to draw back a little, and still others drove ahead a little. And while Ned was strivin’ to pass the Impco and reach the Stormbird, Jane removed her helmet and goggles, and then reached forward and gently tapped his shoulder.

Ned looked back; for a minute he thought he was dreamin’. Then he shouted something that was lost in the thunder of the motors, and bored on. He couldn’t snap off the ignition a minute; ’t would slow the plane. Jane smiled at him, still enjoyin’ every minute; and then he looked back again, and grinned. He’d caught onto the joy of the thing and then Jane was satisfied.

Ned bent to his controls again, for the Impco was slippin’ closer. It wasn’t bearin’ up under the continued, terrific strain. Ned grasped the opportunity and kept the throttle wide open. Bit by bit the Impco slid back, and Ned gave it a wide berth. Slowly, but surely, the Alton advanced. For miles the planes bobbed side by side; and then the Alton crept forward, inch by inch, until it was leadin’.

Jane gaily waved at the Impco pilot and threw him a couple of kisses!

The Alton bored on, and Ned concentrated on the Stormbird. It was still thundering on, a strong ship, much better than the Imp, perhaps equal to ours--perhaps even better! Ned kept the throttle wide; and Jane settled down to the serious business of takin’ the lead.

The earth was bobbin’ below the planes, slidin’ by gentle but fast; one town and another came into view and disappeared. And then the Alton began to wobble. The motor roared up and down. Ned was actin’ funny with the controls. Jane watched him close; and then she saw Ned’s head bob, and his shoulders slide forward. Just then the ship began to dive and lose speed.

“Ned!” Jane screeched, grabbing his shoulder and shakin’ him. “What’s the matter?”

He pulled himself together some, looked around; and in his eyes was a dreamy, sick look. Jane shook him again; but he acted almost drunk. His lips mumbled words that were lost in the motor’s roar; but Jane knew that something was very much wrong with him.

The ship was losin’ speed; the Stormbird was leading by a long distance; and even the Imp was drawing close again. Jane didn’t wait for any more trouble. She unsnapped her safety belt and, calm as you please, put one leg across and into the fore pit. Then she pulled forward, and came into the pit with Ned. She crammed herself down into and on him, and grabbed the stick. Ned’s feet were loose on the rudder-bars, but the stabilizer kept the plane on an even keel without much help from the controls.

Jane shook Ned again; and he was conkin’ out fast. He pulled off one glove and looked at his right hand. It was red and swole up, and across it was a red streak, a scratch. He looked up with eyes full of pitiful request for help, and tried to talk. Jane was desperate; she cut the switch to hear him.

“Sick,” he mumbled. “Scratch--somebody on field. Bumped against me. Must be--poisoned. Oh,--I can’t--go on----”

And he slumped forward in the pit. Jane snapped on the ignition, kept the stick steady, pulled Ned back up, and pleaded in his ear.

“Try, Ned! Try to get up! Try to get back into the other pit. I’ll handle the stick. You get back--try! Please try!”

Sick as he was, he tried. He dragged himself up and tottered in the air, while Jane assisted all she could. Then Ned tumbled into the rear pit, half on the seat, and without makin’ a move to get up, passed out completely.

Jane settled to the controls with all the fire she had--which was plenty! She snapped on the ignition and opened the throttle wide as she could. The motor blasted. The plane almost jumped ahead. The Imp, which was almost nose to nose with the Alton again, gradually dropped back. There was the Stormbird, far ahead. Jane fixed her blue eyes on that plane, and kept the throttle open, and prayed.

She didn’t understand perfectly then what had happened to Ned. It was this: while he was on the field, talkin’ with Alton--while Jane was talkin’ with me, private!--somebody brushed past him, and then Ned discovered a scratch on his hand, lookin’ like it was made by a pin. He thought nothin’ of it, but that scratch was full of a drug. What it was we don’t know yet, but it was powerful, and without the shadow of a doubt it had been used by somebody in the Stormbird people’s pay--somebody, probably at Stud Walker’s behest. The object was to put the Alton out of the race by cripplin’ its pilot--and, if it hadn’t been for Jane, the trick would have succeeded! But with Jane at the stick, it was far from succeedin’!

Jane stretched that ship to the limit. The Imp bobbed far behind. Territory unreeled under her. The Stormbird loomed large again. Both ships were goin’ their limit. The race settled down to a question of which ship had the more speed and power and stamina, and the victor would be decided by a very narrow margin. Jane kept the throttle wide, and waited for the Alton to do its stuff--and it did.

Slowly she drew up. She kept the Alton on a level with the Stormbird’s tail for a hundred miles. Then slowly the differences in the ships began to tell. The Alton crept up. An inch. Another inch. Another inch--forward always, at a mad airspeed, the motor blasting like a demon loose out of hell, the whole ship shaking, the wires screaming. The earth spun and veered. Another inch--another. Little by little the Alton crept up on the Stormbird until, prop even with prop, they drove ahead without either gainin’ a mite.

Once again the Stormbird began to slip back; and Jane--yes!--tossed Mr. Stud Walker an ironic kiss!

Jane kept that ship howlin’. On she went. On. The skies began to darken. The air got a little bumpy. The visibility dropped. The exhaust tubes of the planes, white-hot, spouted orange fire. And Jane drove on. Little by little, again, the Alton took its margin of lead.

What was that? Water! Long Island Sound! Only a few miles away was the finish field!

Jane kept the plane drivin’. The Stormbird howled on the Alton’s tail. Both planes were crazy flyin’ things--crazy.

Then the field, the big square! Closer and closer! Jane stepped down to it, slowin’ as little as possible. Down she swooped, and the ground swung up at her. She felt the trucks touch. She zipped across the sand; she ground looped; she trundled back. And as she came to a stop, and the crowd started for her, the Stormbird dropped out of the sky.

Jane jumped out of her plane. She knew Ned wasn’t seriously hurt, but he needed help, and to the first man she saw she shouted: “Get a doctor!” Then, with reporters mobbin’ her, she just smiled, gave her name and that of the plane, and waited until a fat man with an official badge, head of the Committee, came up to her. Then she said pertly:

“Well, I guess I won, didn’t I?”

The Committeeman was flabbergasted. He hadn’t expected to see a girl. Reporters were yowlin’ for Jane’s name, and facts about her, knowin’ that a girl hadn’t been scheduled to pilot the Alton, and sensin’ a big story. The Committeeman muffed a few words, not knowin’ what to do or say, but seein’ plain enough that she had got to the field first.

Then a man in leather tunic and with goggle-prints around his eyes came pushin’ through the crowd, with four other Committeemen, all lookin’ indignant and outraged. That guy was Walker--Walker was howlin’.

“There she is!” he yelped. “This race is bein’ run on the square, ain’t it? Well, you can’t rate her winner. She isn’t the pilot that belongs to that ship. Her name is Alton--the pilot registered for this plane is named Knight!”

The Committeeman got red-faced and mad and still more dignified. They waved a hand for silence and bellowed to the reporters, after a hot and fast conference among themselves:

“The Alton is not the winner of this race. The Alton is not the winner! It is disqualified because of irregularities. The official winner of the race is the Stormbird, with Walker pilotin’!”

“Just a minute!” Jane spoke up, pert and clear. “Where are the irregularities? The Alton has come through clean, without any. The pilot of this ship is supposed to be Knight, and it wins the race because _my name is_ Knight!”

That’s a poser.

“I intended to fly this ship all along!” Jane declared. “And I win the race--”

“Your name is Knight?” the Committeemen demanded in one big voice.

“Yes, indeed,” said Jane. “Mrs. Ned Knight. It has been that since last evenin’. So there!”

* * * * *

Whenever I see Jane comin’ onto the testin’ field of the big, boomin’, prosperous Alton factory, to take a little sky-spin with her husband, I size her up and sigh and tell myself all over again that that girl sure looks right in a flyin’ suit!

THE END

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the August 1928 issue of Adventure magazine.]