Famous Flyers And Their Famous Flights

Excerpt

Bob Martin stood outside the large red brick house and whistled. He whistled three notes, a long and two short, which meant to Hal Gregg inside that Bob wanted to see him, and to see him quickly. Something was up. At least, that was what it should have meant to Hal, but evidently it didn’t, because no answering whistle came out to Bob, and no head appeared in any of the windows.

Bob whistled again, this time a little more shrilly, and he kept on whistling until a pale, spectacled face appeared at an upstairs window. The window was thrown open, and Bob shouted up before Hal Gregg had a chance to speak.

“Hey, what’s the idea of keeping me waiting? Hurry up, come on down, I’ve got something great to tell you.”

“Hold your horses. I didn’t hear you whistle at first. I was reading,” called down Hal.

Bob snorted. “Put it away and hurry up down. Books can wait. You should hear the news I’ve got to tell you.”

“The book’s swell,” said Hal. “It’s that new book on aviation I got for my birthday. Is your news more important than that?”

“You bet it is,” yelled Bob. “And if you aren’t down here in two seconds, I’m going to keep it to myself. And won’t you be sorry!”

Hal laughed. “I’ll be down in one second. I’m not going to have you knowing anything I don’t know. You’re too smart now.” The dark head disappeared from the window, reappeared atop the narrow shoulders of its owner at the front door within a few seconds, bobbing about as he leaped down the front steps two at a time. Hal Gregg joined his pal Bob under the maple tree on the Gregg front lawn.

The two boys made a strange contrast as they flung themselves down in the shade of the tree. They were the same age, sixteen, with Hal having a little edge on his friend. But Bob could have passed for the other boy’s big brother. He was a full head taller, his shoulders were broader, his complexion ruddier. He was the typical outdoor boy, with tousled brown hair, a few unruly freckles, and a broad pleasant face. Hal Gregg was short and slight, with sloping narrow shoulders. His complexion was dark, and his large, serious eyes were hidden behind shell-rimmed eye-glasses. Yet though they were such a badly matched team, the two boys were fast friends.

Their friendship had begun strangely. In the first place, they lived next door to each other, on a quiet, shady side-street in the large city of Crowley. Bob had lived there first, while the red brick house next to his had been empty for a long time. Nobody Bob’s age had ever lived in that house, and he had grown to look at it as an old fogey sort of a house, very dull, and fit only for grownups. It didn’t seem as though young people could ever live in it. So he’d been pretty much excited when he found out that the house had been sold, and that a boy his own age was going to move in.

But his first glimpse of Hal was a disappointed one. “Oh, golly, just my luck,” he said to his mother. “Somebody my own age moves in next door at last, and look what he turns out to be.”

Mrs. Martin had also caught a glimpse of Hal as he had got out of the automobile with his mother, and entered the house. “He seems to me to be a very nice boy,” she said quietly.

“Nice! That’s just the point. He looks as though he’s so nice he’ll be as dull as ditchwater. I’ll bet he’s the kind that can’t tell one airplane from another, and buys his radio sets all made up, with twenty tubes and all kinds of gadgets....