“I don’t doubt but that he will do that, all right,” Mr. Force grunted. “I suspect he is your real reason for this trip.”
“Honestly, I never thought of that at first.”
“All right, run along.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Won’t you be late for your music lesson?”
Guiltily, Doris snatched up a roll of music she had dropped on the table and dashed into the bedroom for her hat. With a hasty kiss dropped on the top of her uncle’s head, she dashed for the door and clattered down the stairs two at a time.
Reaching the street, she ran all the way to the corner and there swung upon the rear end of a street car just as it was starting. Breathlessly, she dropped into the nearest seat and looked at her wrist watch.
“Ten minutes to four,” she told herself. “If this old car isn’t too poky, I’ll make it on time yet.”
Doris seldom was late for her vocal lessons, for her interest in music was genuine, and she realized that it was a privilege to be a student of the famed Herr Von Heflinger who accepted only the most promising pupils. On more than one occasion, Doris had become a trifle discouraged, for Von Heflinger was strict and offered criticism more freely than praise.
On this afternoon she reached the studio just as the clock was striking four and so avoided the displeasure of the master. Always blunt, he offered only a few words of greeting and seated himself at the piano, quickly arranging the music. Striking a few chords, he selected a difficult piece and bade Doris sing.
Somewhat disturbed by Von Heflinger’s austere manner, she began a trifle shakily, but before she had sung a dozen notes, she found herself. Soon she had forgotten her accompanist, had forgotten everything save the song. She sang brilliantly and with more feeling than ever before. Von Heflinger caught the spirit and his hands moved quickly over the keyboard, now running arpeggios, now crashing in loud chords or falling so softly that the tones were scarcely audible.
The last note of the song died away, and the master turned to Doris with an expression she had never seen on his face before.
“Ah, Miss Force,” he said, “you have the divine spark! You will go far! This summer you must study hard your French and German—and perhaps, who knows, you shall yet be presented in Grand Opera!”
Doris scarcely could believe her own ears, for she knew her teacher was not given to idle praise. Grand Opera! How she longed to become famous! She could almost see herself on the stage, taking her curtain calls, making her bows, accepting the flowers.
She was brought back to reality by hearing her teacher repeat, more sternly:
“This summer you must work—study hard your languages.”
The lesson went on, and at five o’clock Doris left the studio, still somewhat dazed at the thought of what might be ahead of her.
“I will work,” she told herself as she walked slowly toward the street car. “I’ll work night and day!”
Doris had always been one to make the most of her opportunities, and from childhood she had determined upon a career. Her sweet bell-like soprano voice had been inherited from her mother, but only training and diligent practice had developed its full power and volume. Doris’s ability and her willingness to help others had made her much in demand as a singer at teas, parties and entertainments.
Many girls would have been satisfied with such popularity, but not Doris Force. From the very start she had set her heart upon reaching the highest rung in the ladder.
“I must study my German and my French this summer,” she told herself, “and I really can’t do much by myself. I should have a teacher.”
This brought a cloud to her face, for she remembered the discussion she had just had with her uncle.
“Money!” she thought impatiently. “I need it so badly, and I don’t see where it is coming from unless it turns out that I am to inherit it from my Uncle John Trent.”
CHAPTER IV
An Aviation Meet
By Saturday, when David Chamberlin called to take Doris to the aviation meet, her financial troubles were temporarily forgotten. She was not given to worrying unnecessarily, and on this day nothing could have interfered with her fun.
As Doris stepped into the trim little roadster, Dave cast her an admiring glance, noting that she was dressed in a white sports costume which set off her red hair to startling advantage. They made an excellent pair. Dave was dark, tall, straight as a cadet, and considered handsome by all of Doris’s friends.
“You gave me a dreadful fright when you flew so low over our house,” Doris told him as they drove swiftly toward the aviation field, which was located some distance from Chilton.
“Did I? Sorry, but I just had to drop that note.” Dave smiled down upon her. “Anyway, you forget that I’m getting to be an expert at handling the joy-stick. I want to take you up one of these days.”
“Oh, I’m crazy to fly with you! Perhaps Uncle Ward won’t let me, though.”
“We can talk him around to it.”
As they approached the aviation field, they were forced to proceed at a slow rate, for the highway was jammed with cars.
Entering the gateway, they parked the roadster and then wandered about the field, inspecting the various planes. Dave explained a great deal about the distinguishing characteristics of the various models and introduced her to a number of aviators with whom he was acquainted. As the time approached for the meet to begin, they sought their seats in the improvised grandstand.
Presently the master of ceremonies announced through the loud speakers that the opening event would be an inside loop contest. A hush of expectancy fell over the crowd as two planes zoomed up from the field and immediately began to cut vertical circles in the sky.
“It looks so easy, doesn’t it?” Doris murmured.
“Yes, but believe me, it isn’t!” Dave assured her, without taking his eyes from the two planes. “If I could only do that!”
“I’m just as glad you can’t, Dave. I’d be afraid to have you.”
Following the inside loop contest, a squadron of army planes took to the air and thrilled the spectators with a spectacular exhibition of formation flying. Then came parachute jumping, dead-stick landings, and exciting races. Doris found it impossible to restrain her excitement as the planes rounded the pylons, frequently banking to such an angle that it seemed disaster could not be avoided.
As a climax to the meet the master of ceremonies announced that an intrepid young flier would entertain the crowd with daring stunts. Doris and Dave saw a brilliant red monoplane take off from the field and climb to an altitude of several thousand feet. Then, in quick succession, the red plane went through barrel-rolls, loops, dives, falling leaves, and wing-overs.
“That boy’s good!” Dave exclaimed in admiration.
The words were scarcely spoken when Doris gave a startled little cry. It had seemed to her that, as the monoplane came out of a loop, something was wrong. The plane seemed to waver, and then, to Doris’s terror, shot down in a tailspin.
“It’s all in the stunt,” Dave assured her. “The pilot’s just—” he broke off and a look of horror came into his own eyes as he saw that the man at the stick was fighting desperately for control.
The spectators, suddenly made aware of the impending disaster, sprang as one man to their feet and cried out in fright. Women and children covered their faces.
The plucky aviator had not given up. Struggling frantically at the controls he refused to take to his parachute and, only a short distance above the field, brought the plane out of the spin. However, he had scant time to alter the course,