Wayne Dorothy

Dorothy Dixon Wins Her Wings


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Dixon lit a fresh cigar. "I see that you've already started your flight training."

      "Bill explained the procedure to me on our way up here this afternoon. But what are we going to do for a plane?"

      "Bill has some scheme, I believe."

      "Oh, I know," she decided. "Bill shall pick me out a nice little plane and-"

      "I shall pay for it," said her father grimly. "Nothing doing. When you have won your wings-well-we shall see. Until then, you and Bill will have to figure without financial help from your fond parent."

      "That's fair enough," agreed Mr. Bolton.

      "O.K. with me, too," echoed Bill. "I happen to have an old N-9, a Navy training plane, down at the shipyard near the beach club, that will do nicely. I was down there this afternoon having her pontoon removed. I want to equip her with landing gear so I can house her up here. The Amphibian uses up too much gas to go joy-hopping in."

      A maid appeared on the doorstep.

      "Mr. Dixon wanted on the phone, please," she announced, and waited while that gentleman preceded her into the house.

      A moment later Mr. Dixon was back on the terrace.

      "The bank's been robbed!" he cried. "Sorry, gentlemen, but I've got to hustle down there just as soon as possible."

      "This way!" called Bill, springing down the steps to the garden. "My car's out here-come on!"

      "That young chap can keep his head," thought Mr. Dixon as he ran beside his daughter and Mr. Bolton. "It would take a lot to fluster him."

      Then they came upon him, backing slowly up the drive, both doors swinging wide so they could jump in the car without his stopping.

      "Which bank, Mr. Dixon?"

      Bill had the car in the road now and was racing toward the village.

      "First National-Main Street, next the Town Hall. I'm president, you know."

      "I didn't know. But I'm glad to hear it."

      "How's that?"

      "You should have a drag with the traffic cops. We are doing an even sixty now-and it would be a bad time to get a ticket."

      Mr. Dixon grasped the door-handle as Bill skidded them into a cross road with the expertness of a racing driver. "Just get us there, that's all," he gasped. "The chief himself phoned me. I didn't wait to hear details-but from what I gathered, the hold up men got clean away before the police discovered the robbery. But time is always a factor in a case of this kind, so don't worry about traffic rules."

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