Mr. Bradbury colored
a bit with mortification. But Peggy quickly dispelled his temporary
chagrin.
"You see," she explained, "it would never do for us to reveal all our
secrets, would it? You agree with me, don't you?"
"Oh, perfectly. You are quite right. Still, I confess that you have
aroused all my inquisitiveness."
Peggy being busied just then with a bit of machinery on the bulkhead
separating the motor from the body of the chassis, made no reply. But
presently, when she looked up, she gave a sharp exclamation.
The sky, as if by magic, had grown suddenly dark. Above the pulsating
voice of the motor could be heard the rumble of thunder. All at once a
vivid flash of lightning leaped across the horizon. One of those sudden
storms of summer had blown up from the sea, and Peggy knew enough of Long
Island weather to know that these disturbances were usually accompanied by
terrific winds--squalls and gusts that no aeroplane yet built or thought
of could hope to cope with.
"We're running into dirty weather, it seems," remarked the officer. "I
thought I noticed some thunderheads away off on the horizon when we first
went up."
"I wish you'd mentioned them then," said the straightforward Peggy; "as it
is, we'll have to descend till this blows over."
"What, won't even the wonderful equalizer render her safe?"
"No, it won't.
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