Chapter V: Something Up

I could see, by that time, that Conant wasn’t a scrapper. He just smiled in a sort of apologetic way.

“If it’s any of your business,” he said, addressing Brooks, “perhaps it might be advisable to talk things over.”

Healy didn’t like that. He glared at Bob Brooks, and said: “I owe him fifty dollars, Conant. Give it to him, and take it off my stunt pay.”

I expected that.

So did Bob. He shook his head. “I’ll have to look up some papers,” he replied. “Don’t know the exact amount, and, anyway, Healy is under a contract to fly for me--not for himself. We’d have to----”

“I’ve busted the contract!” Russ Healy exclaimed. “I’ll fly any way that I want to fly. The Old Lady’s my ship. You say she’s no good. I’ll show you how good she is--and you’ll pay money to see her in the movies----”

“Steady!” Bob interrupted him. “Maybe we’d just better grab him, Mac--what do you think?”

I looked at Russ. He was pretty white around the ears, but he was still able to use his head.

“Better come along, Russ!” It was Simmons who spoke. “If you and your friends hop us, Duke’ll clip a few wires with his pliers, and you never will get the Old Lady off--not for a few days, anyway.”

Healy glared at Simmons. Then he looked at the director. Conant was smiling cheerfully. There was a peculiar expression in Russ Healy’s eyes suddenly. He shrugged his shoulders.

“All right,” he said. “But I’ll be back in a few days, Conant--just as soon as I work out fifty bucks’ worth of air stuff for the old miser, here.”

Conant nodded. “We’ll shoot some other scenes in the meantime,” he replied, and kept right on smiling. “Don’t get hurt, Healy.”

I laughed out loud at that one. Conant telling Russ not to get hurt! It was pretty rich.

“I’ll ride back with Russ, Mac,” the boss told me. “You boys stay down here until we take off.”

I nodded and lighted a pill.

Russ followed Bob Brooks along toward the Old Lady.

Conant shrugged his shoulders. “Just one delay after another,” he declared. “It’s beastly!”

“Sure it is,” I agreed. “Times are getting tough when you can’t get fellows to kill themselves by crashing planes for a few hundred dollars.”

But Conant didn’t get sore. He kept right on smiling. And remembering that expression I’d seen in Russ Healy’s eyes, I figured that something was up. I tried to dope out just what it would be, as I walked over toward the D.H., but it had me buffaloed.

The Old Lady’s appearance sidetracked me. They hadn’t had much time, but already they’d mounted two guns on the old Jenny, and there was camouflage paint on her--not yet dry. There wasn’t very much of it, but enough to make her look like a different ship. She’d do for a crash, anyway.

Russ was climbing into the front cockpit, and as he squirmed into place back of the stick, he looked at me. He was grinning. Bob Brooks was already seated in the rear cockpit.

I waved a hand and went on toward the D.H. The other boys were already in their planes, or moving toward them.

I hadn’t more than snapped the self-starter and let the prop turn over a few times, when the Old Lady, gaudy in her new disguise, took the air. I stared at her. The dummy guns were still in place. I wondered why Bob hadn’t raised the devil about that, but I figured he was glad enough to get Russ away so easily.

“He’ll have to do _some_ talking to keep Russ from coming back!” I thought, as I advanced the throttle a few notches and taxied out into the wind. “_Something’s_ funny in this deal. I’m sure of that!”

I’d heard a lot about this fellow Conant, and I _knew_ a lot about Russ Healy. Neither of them, from the way I figured it, had run true to form. They’d let us set the ships down there, and deliberately bust up their little party.

They’d taken it pretty calmly, too. Then, there had been that exchange of glances between Conant and Russ Healy. That had counted for something. As I lifted the De Havilland off the field, following the Old Lady, I shook my head. “Something’s up--besides some joy-hopping ships!” I said to myself. “But _what_?”