and she found him most interesting. She made him talk about the army and about flying, and finally of the club. She was keenly disappointed when Joe Elliston cut in and took her away.
She did not dance with the Lieutenant again, although she stayed until midnight. Then she told Harry she wanted to go home.
"But your aunt isn't even thinking of leaving so early, and she's as strict as they come. Besides, I hear that the breakfast we're going to get will put the supper to shame!" Harry was just as anxious as Ralph to have a good time before college opened.
"I know, Harry, and I don't want to be a poor sport. But I'm really awfully tired. I flew to Philadelphia yesterday, and back again today." She didn't say why; Linda Carlton was not a girl to boast of her good deeds. "Besides, tomorrow is a big day for me. If Daddy comes home, we have some momentous questions to talk over – which will decide my whole future."
"Flying?"
"Yes… So, Harry, please take me home, and then you can easily come back again and stay for breakfast."
The young man did as he was requested, but he did not go back. Somehow, the party no longer interested him.
So while her friends still danced far into the night, Linda Carlton slept soundly, that she might retain that radiant health upon which the doctor had complimented her the day before.
Chapter III
The Flying Club
When Linda came down to breakfast the following morning, she found her father already at the table. He had a way of arriving early in the morning, for he preferred traveling in a sleeper.
"Daddy!" she cried, happily. "Just the person I want to see!"
"Well, that's nice," he said, kissing her affectionately. "I wouldn't want it otherwise. Now sit down and tell me all about your latest experiences while you eat your breakfast."
"No, first you must tell me how you are! Are you all well again after that terrible accident?"
"Much better, but not quite all well," he replied. "I have to stay away from horses, I guess, for the rest of my life. I'm selling the ranch."
"Daddy!" There was the deepest sympathy in her voice; she knew how her father loved his out-door life, almost as much as she loved flying.
"Well, it wasn't paying anyhow. But sit down, dear, and tell me about yourself. I know you were at a party last night – the servants told me, for I haven't seen your Aunt Emily yet."
"Everything's just fine with me," Linda told him, as she sat down beside him and took a bunch of grapes. "It isn't the past I want to talk about, Daddy – it's the future."
"Of course, of course," murmured her father. "It's always the future with you… Well, what's on your mind now?"
"I want to go to a ground school. I want to be a commercial pilot – maybe even a 'transport pilot,' the highest of all, you know. And a licensed mechanic." She tried to keep her voice calm, but her blue eyes were shining with excitement.
"What for?" inquired her father, smiling at the idea of a girl with ambitions like these.
"So that I can earn my living in aviation. I want to go in for it seriously, Daddy. Not just play!"
"You're afraid I won't be able to support you, later on?" he asked, half teasingly.
"No, no – not that – "
"Of course such an event is possible. In fact, Daughter, it was that very thing I especially want to talk about to you… I have decided to go into business."
"Into business?" repeated Linda, in amazement.
"Yes. I want something to do, now that I am selling my ranch. Besides, I have lost a good deal of money in stocks, and I think it's time I made some."
"But what?"
"Importing some very lovely lace-work, and selling it wholesale to the better stores all over the country. This needle-work is made in a convent in Canada, and has never been sold before. But I have been able to persuade the Mother Superior to sell it, because they really are dreadfully in need of money."
"But how did you happen on such a thing as this?" asked Linda, incredulously.
"Two years ago – the summer you went to camp with Louise in Maine, you remember – Emily and I visited you and went on into Canada. One day your aunt stopped at this convent – it's near Montreal – and one of the nuns took such a fancy to her that she gave her a handkerchief of this work. When we got home, your aunt sent a contribution for the convent, and really the letter of gratitude was touching."
"And they've actually agreed to sell this to you?"
"Yes. All they have. And they are making more. If I hadn't come along, they would have had to give up their convent."
"Of course it's expensive?"
"Yes, and there's nothing like it in America. Nobody in our country would ever have the patience to do it. Of course I have to pay a tax, besides, on every piece. But the stores are enthusiastic, they ordered all I had. Except – " he dug smilingly into his pocket – "except this handkerchief I saved for you."
Linda opened the small package eagerly, and disclosed the daintiest, loveliest thing of its kind that she had ever seen. Filmy net-work, made with infinite patience, probably as the nuns had learned from their sisters in France. It was exquisite.
"Oh, Daddy, I adore it!" she cried.
"Rather a queer present for a girl who wants to be a licensed mechanic," he remarked, whimsically.
"But I love things like this, too!" she hastily assured him. "And I can appreciate its value. Why, all my friends will be green with envy!"
"Then they can easily buy them in New York," he said. "If you show it to your rich friends, you'll help my business…
"Now, another thing, Daughter, while we're on this subject. As I told you, I've lost some money, and my expenses are pretty heavy. So I'm just taking a precaution, in case I should fail in this business, of putting thirty thousand dollars in bonds aside in your name. Just so you won't be penniless."
"That's awfully sweet of you, Daddy! But can you afford it?"
"Yes, certainly."
"Then – then – instead of a trust fund could I have the money for two purposes?" she asked excitedly. "To pay for my course at a ground school, and – and – " She stopped and flushed; her heart beat so fast with excitement that the words choked her. She was almost afraid to tell her father, for fear of his refusal. It was her most cherished dream, her secret which she had confided only to Louise, her greatest ambition!
"And what, Daughter?"
"Can't you guess, Daddy?"
"No. I never know what you're up to. A new plane? One of those new-fangled autogiros?"
"No – that is, not exactly… Oh, Daddy, don't think I'm crazy. But if I do well at school, next spring I should like to have a special plane – and – and – " She took a deep breath before she finally blurted out her desire. "And fly the Atlantic! Without a man!" she said.
"All
