Venus'll have nothing on you. Here's my goggles;
put 'em on. I'm going to borrow Bland's." It had occurred to Johnny that
Mary V would probably shrink from wearing anything belonging to Bland
Halliday; girls were queer that way.

Bland stepped pugnaciously forward; his pale eyes were unpleasantly
filmed with anger. "Aw, I see your game, bo; but you can't get away with
it. Not for a minute, you can't. You think I'm such a mark as that? Come
down here and work like a dog to get the plane ready to fly, and then
kiss yuh good-bye and watch yuh go off with it--and leave me here to rot
with the snakes and lizards? Oh, no! I'll take the young lady--"

"Give me a hand up, Johnny. The front seat? How perfectly _ducky_ to ride
home in an aeroplane! Oh, Johnny wants your goggles, Mr. Halliday." Mary
V reached down quickly and lifted them off the irate aviator's head
before he knew what she was after. "Here they are, Johnny. Sit down, and
Mr. Halliday will crank up--or whatever you call it. I'll send him right
back, Mr. Halliday, just as quick as ever he can make the trip!"

Mr. Halliday gave her a venomous glance, and a sneer which included them
both.

"Ain't it a shame she ain't equipped with a self-starter?" he fleered.
"You two look cute, settin' there; but I don't seem to see yuh making any
quick getaway, at that." He spread his legs and stood arrogantly, arms
folded, the sneer looking perfectly at home on his face.

"Don't be a darned boob!" Johnny snapped impatiently. "Turn 'er over.
Miss Selmer wants me to pilot her home, and I'm going to tackle it. You
needn't be scared, though; I'll come back."

"I don't think so," said Bland, teetering a little as he stood.

"I will, unless I bust something. And it's my machine, so I'm sure going
to be right careful that nothing busts." What Johnny wanted to do was get
out and lick Bland Halliday till he howled, but since the gratification
of that desire was neither politic nor convenient, he promised himself a
settlement later on, when Mary V was not present. Just now he must humor
Bland along.

"I don't think you'll come back," Bland repeated, "because I don't think
you'll start. There's a little detail to be looked after first--a little
swingin' on the propeller to be done. I don't see anybody doin' it. And
I never did hear of anybody flying without their motor running." He
tittered malevolently.

"Cut out the comedy, bo, and let me in there. You start 'er for me, and
_I'll