The Girl Aviators Motor Butterfly | Page 4

"But--but who would drive the car?" asked Miss Prescott, in the voice
of one who is thinking up a feeble last objection.
"Why, Jake Rickets, of course," declared Roy, referring to the man who
helped the boys in the machine shop in which the aëroplanes for the
desert mines were manufactured.
After this Miss Prescott could make but a poor stand against the united
urgings of five impetuous, enthusiastic young people. The air was filled
with plans of all sorts. Jimsy was for going at once, but it was finally
decided to meet again and set a definite date for a start. In the meantime
there were parents' consents to be obtained, plans laid for the route to

be followed, and various things purchased for the aërial trip.
All this occupied some time, and it was not till a week later that the last
difficulty in connection with the motor flight had been straightened out
and the three aëroplanes stood ready, in Roy's hangar, for a tour that
was to prove eventful in more ways than one.
It was just after dawn on the day of the start that Roy and Jimsy for the
last time went over every nut and bolt on the machines and declared
everything in perfect readiness for the trip. Breakfast was a mere
pretence at a meal; excitement got the better of appetites that morning.
Beside the winged machines sputtering and coughing as if impatient at
the delay, was a large and comfortable red touring car. At the driver's
wheel of this vehicle was seated a small, "under-done"-looking man, in
a chauffeur's uniform of black leather. This was Jake Rickets.
"Well, Jake, we're all ready for a start," announced Roy, at last.
The small man, whose hair was fair, not to say pale, glanced at the
glowing boy with an expression of deep melancholy.
"Yes, if something don't happen," he declared, in tones of deep
pessimism.
"Jake's never happy unless he's foreboding some disaster," explained
Roy to Bess, who happened to be standing by drawing on her gloves.
"It don't never do to be too sure," murmured the melancholy Jake, "'cos
why? Well, you can't most generally always tell."
"Everything ready?" cried Peggy at last, as Miss Prescott got into the
car.
"As ready as it ever will be," merrily called back Bess, who was
already seated in the little green Dart.
The chorus of engine pantings and explosions was swelled by the roar
of Roy's big biplane and the rattling exhaust of Jimsy's fierce-looking

Red Dragon.
The Golden Butterfly, which was equipped with a silencing device, ran
smoothly and silently as a sewing machine. Peggy sat at the wheel,
while Jess reclined on the padded seat placed tandemwise behind her. It
made a wonderful picture, the big white biplane with its boy driver, the
scarlet and silver machine of Jimsy Bancroft and the delicate green and
gold color schemes of the other two flying machines.
"The first stop will be Palenville," announced Roy, "the biplane will be
the pathfinder."
Despite the earliness of the hour and the efforts that had been made to
keep the motor flight a secret, the information of the novel experiment
had, in some way, leaked out. Quite a small crowd gave a loud cheer as
Roy cried:
"Go!"
"We're off!" cried Peggy, athrill with excitement.
Propellers flashed in the sunlight and the next instant the biplane, after
a short run, soared aloft toward a sky of cloudless, clean-swept blue. In
rapid succession the Dart, Golden Butterfly and Red Dragon followed.
"Come on," cried Bess to Jimsy, waving her hand challengingly.
"Ladies first, even off the earth," came back from Jimsy gallantly, as he
skillfully "banked" his machine in an upward spiral.
Then upward and outward soared the gayly colored sky racers, like a
flock of wonderful birds. It was the greatest sight that the crowd left
behind and below had ever witnessed, although one or two shook their
heads and prophesied dire results from young ladies tampering with
them blamed "sky buggies."
But not a thought of this entered the heads of the aërial adventurers.
With sparkling eyes, and bounding pulses they flew steadily southward,

from time to time glancing below at the touring car. Even though they
were flying slowly it was plain that the big auto had hard work to keep
up with them. The unique motor flight was on, and was about to
develop experiences of which none of them at the moment dreamed.
CHAPTER III.
LITTLE WREN AND THE GIPSIES.
They flew on, keeping the motor car beneath them in constant sight till
about noon. Then, from the tonneau of the machine, came the waving
of a red square of silk. This had been agreed upon as a signal to halt for
a brief lunch.
Shouting joyously, the