Dorothy Dixon Wins Her Wings Read online

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  DOROTHY DIXON Wins Her Wings,

  BY _Dorothy Wayne_

  Author of _Dorothy Dixon and The Mystery Plant Dorothy Dixon Solves the Conway Case Dorothy Dixon and the Double Cousin_

  THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY CHICAGO

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  Copyright, 1933 The Goldsmith Publishing Company MADE IN U. S. A.

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  TO _My young sister_ HILDA

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  CONTENTS

  I Out of The Northeast II Taxi! III A Wild Ride IV The First Hop V Trouble VI The Hold Up VII Ground Trails VIII Next Morning IX Air Trails X The Meeting XI Follow the Leader XII The House in the Hills XIII Trapped XIV The Doctor XV Staten Island Sadie Has Her Way XVI What Happened in the Wine Cellar XVII The Loening

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  Dorothy Dixon Wins Her Wings

  _Chapter I_

  OUT OF THE NORTHEAST

  "Hi, there, young lady!"

  "Hi, yourself,--what d'you want?"

  At the water's edge, a girl of sixteen stopped in the act of launching asmall skiff. She straightened her lithe figure and faced about, herbrown hair blowing in the breeze, turning a pair of snapping grey eyesinquiringly upon the young man who walked down the beach toward her.

  "Miss Dixon, isn't it?" asked the stranger, his deeply tanned featuresbreaking into an engaging smile. "I'm not sure I recognized you at firstin the bathing suit--"

  "No matter how you were dressed I'm sure I wouldn't recognize you,"returned Dorothy, shortly. "I've never laid eyes on you before--that'swhy."

  The young man laughed. "Quite right," he said, "you haven't. But Ihappen to be a near neighbor of yours, and I've seen you."

  "Up at New Canaan?"

  "Yes. Dad has taken the Hawthorne place,--bought it in fact."

  For a full minute the girl stared at this tall young man with the blondehair and the jolly smile. Surprise left her speechless.

  Then--"Why--why--" she gasped. "Y-you must be the famous Bill Bolton!"

  "Bolton's the name, all right," he grinned. "But that famous stuff isthe bunk."

  Dorothy was herself again, and a little ashamed of her burst of feeling.

  "But you _are_ the aviator!" She went on, more calmly. "My father toldme the other day that you and your father were coming to live across theroad from us. And I don't mind telling you we're simply thrilled! Yousee, I've read about you in the papers--and I know all about thewonderful things you've done!"

  "I'm afraid you've got an exaggerated idea--it was all in the day'swork, you know," protested the blonde-headed young man, his eyebrowsslanting quizzically, "I'm Bill Bolton, but I didn't barge in on you totalk about myself. You're starting out for a sail in that sloop that'smoored over there, I take it?"

  "Why, yes, I am. Want to come along?"

  "Thanks a lot. I've got a business matter to attend to down here in afew minutes." He hesitated a moment, then--"I know it's none of myaffair, but don't you think it's rather risky to go for a sail justnow?"

  Dorothy shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. There's a two reef breeze blowingout beyond the Point, but that's nothing to worry about. I've sailed allover Long Island Sound since I was a kid, and I've been out in worseblows than this, lots of times."

  "Maybe," countered Bill. "Storm warnings were broadcast about an hourago. We're in for a northeaster--"

  She broke in scoffingly--"Oh! those weathermen! They're always wrong.It's a perfectly scrumptious afternoon. The storm, if it comes, willprobably show up sometime tomorrow!"

  "Well," he retorted, "you're your own boss, I suppose.--If you were mysister," he added suddenly, "you wouldn't go sailing today."

  "Then it's a good thing I'm _not_ your sister. Thanks for yourinterest," she mocked. There was a hint of anger in her voice at thesuspicion that Bill Bolton was trying to patronize her. "Don't worry,"she added, resuming her usual tone, "I can handle a boat--Good-bye!"

  Their eyes met; Bill's gravely accusing, hers, full of defiantdetermination.

  "Good-bye--sorry I spoke." Bill turned away and walked up the beachtoward the club house.

  Dorothy chuckled when she saw him throw a quick glance over hisshoulder. She waved her hand, but he kept on without appearing to noticethe friendly gesture.

  "A temper goes with that blond hair," she said to herself, digging abare heel into the loose shingle. "I guess I was pretty rude, though.But what right had he to talk like that? Bill Bolton may be a famousaviator, but he's only a year older than I am."

  She ran the skiff out through the shallows and sprang aboard. Standingon the stern thwart she sculled the small craft forward with short,strong strokes, and presently nosed alongside the _Scud_. As she boardedthe sloop and turned with the skiff's painter in her hand she caughtsight of Bill getting into an open roadster on the club driveway.

  "I guess he meant well," she observed to the wavelets that lapped theside of the _Scud_, "but just the same--well, that's that."

  Making the painter secure to a cleat in the stern, she set about lacinga couple of reefs into the mainsail. Having tied the last reef-point,she loosened the skiff's painter, pulled the boat forward and skillfullyknotted the rope to the sloop's mooring. Then she cast off the mooringaltogether and ran aft to her place at the tiller.

  The _Scud's_ head played off. Dorothy, as she had told Bill, was nonovice at the art of small boat sailing. With her back bracing thetiller she ran up the jib and twisted the halyard to a cleat close athand.

  Then as the sloop gained steerageway, she pulled on the peak and throathalyards until the reefed-down mainsail was setting well. The _Scud_, afast twenty-footer, was rigged with a fore-staysail and gaff-topsail aswell, but Dorothy knew better than to break them out in a wind likethis.

  As it was she carried all the canvas her little boat would stand, andthey ran out past the Point, which acted as a breakwater to the yachtclub inlet, with the starboard gunwale well awash. The wind out herestiffened perceptibly and Dorothy wished she had tied in three reefsinstead of two before starting. Her better judgment told her to go aboutand seek the quieter waters of the inlet. But here, pride took a hand.

  If she turned back and gave up her afternoon sail, the next time she sawBill Bolton she must admit he had been right. No. That would never do.

  Although the wind out here was stiffer than she had imagined, this wasno northeast gale; a good three-reef breeze, that was all. So loweringthe peak slightly she continued to head her little craft offshore.

  The _Scud_ fought and bucked like a wild thing, deluging Dorothy withspray. She gloried in the tug of the tiller, the sting of the saltbreeze, the dance of her craft over choppy seas. Glistening in the clearsummer sunlight, flecked with tiny whitecaps, the landlocked waterstretched out
to where the low hills of Long Island banked the horizonin a blur of purple and green.

  Now and then as she luffed into a particularly strong gust, Dorothy hadher misgivings. But pride, confidence in her ability to handle her boatand the thrill of danger kept her going.

  She had been sailing for about an hour, beating her way eastward withthe Connecticut shore four or five miles off her port quarter, when allat once, somehow, she felt a change. The sunshine seemed less brilliant,the shadows less solid, less sharply outlined. It seemed as if a verythin gauze had been drawn across the sun dimming without obscuring it.Dorothy searched the sky in vain to discover the smallest shred ofcloud.

  At the same time the breeze slackened and the air, which had beenstimulant and quick with oxygen seemed to become thick, sluggish,suffocating. Presently, the _Scud_ was lying becalmed, while the groundswell, long and perfectly smooth, set sagging jib and mainsail flapping.Except for the rattling of the blocks and the creaking of the boom, thesilence, after the whistling wind of a few minutes before, wastremendously oppressive.

  Then in the distance there was a low growl of thunder. In a moment camea louder, angrier growl--as if the first were a menace which had notbeen heeded. But the first growl was quite enough for Dorothy. She knewwhat was coming and let go her halyards, bringing down her sails with arun. Now fully alive to the danger, she raced to her work of making thelittle craft secure to meet the oncoming storm.

  She was gathering in the mainsail, preparatory to furling it when therewas a violent gust of wind, cold, smelling of the forests from which itcame, corrugating the steely surface of the Sound. Two or three bigraindrops fell--and then, the deluge.

  Dorothy rushed to a locker, pulled out a slicker and sou'wester anddonned them. Returning to her place by the tiller, she watched the rain.Rain had never rained so hard, she thought. Already both the Connecticutand Long Island shores were completely blotted out, hidden behind wallsof water. The big drops pelted the Sound like bullets, sending upsplashes bigger than themselves.

  Then suddenly the wind came tearing across the inland sea from out thenortheast. Thunder crashed, roared, reverberated. Lightning slashedthrough the black cloud-canopy in long, blinding zigzags. The windmoaned, howled, shrieked, immense in its wild force, immense in itsreckless fury.

  A capsized sloop wallowed in the trough of heavy seas rearing a drippingkeel skyward--and to this perilous perch clung Dorothy.