have to stay in this thing any longer.”
She went back to the dressing-room. Presently she reappeared, normally dressed and carrying the suit over her arm. “Mr. Ross,” she said, “I’m sure this is going to be lovely when we get up North, but I shan’t have to wear it in this weather, when we start, shall I?”
He shook his head. “Not unless you want to, Miss Lockwood. Up to Invergordon you’ll be quite all right as you are. You may want to wear it after that.”
He had their flying clothes packed up, and they took the parcels with them in the taxi to Waterloo. They had lunch in the train on their way down to Southampton. Over lunch Ross learned that Sir David was coming down from Coventry late in the afternoon to stay with them for the night and see them off.
They took a taxi to Hythe; Ross took them into the hangar and showed them the machine, standing upon its beaching wheels before the open doors, ready for flight. “There she is,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’ll get her pushed out to the slipway.”
He went off to find the foreman. The girl stared at the seaplane, the first she had ever seen. It was certainly an arresting sight. It was painted a vivid orange colour all over, wings and fuselage, relieved only by the dead-black registration letters. It was so bright it almost hurt the eyes to look at it.
Alix turned to her father. “Daddy,” she said, “it’s awful! Whatever made you have it that appalling colour?”
“I never said a word about the colour,” he replied. He hesitated uncomfortably. “It certainly is very bright.”
“It’s simply terrible. I suppose that’s his idea of what looks nice—he probably thought we’d like it. Do you think we can get it changed? We can’t go round looking like a circus.”
A squad of men began to push the seaplane out; Ross came back to them. “Like it?” he asked cheerfully.
The don said mildly: “It’s rather a conspicuous colour.”
The pilot nodded, still cheerful. “The most conspicuous one there is, on any background. You’d see that ten miles away.”
The girl said irritably: “I don’t know that we want to be quite so conspicuous as that, Mr. Ross.”
The pilot said patiently: “I had it that colour on purpose, Miss Lockwood. It’s the best colour of all for a job like this. If anything happens to us and we have to land, they’ll send out a search party for us—either by land or in another aeroplane. That colour shows up like a flame, on anybackground—snow, or trees, or grass, or water. It’s saved dozens of lives, that colour has.”
Lockwood looked at it with new interest. “That’s very sensible,” he said. “I should never have thought of that.”
Alix said nothing. In theory, she had known what she was in for; she had known that there were elements of danger in the flight, and she was not afraid of them. What was good enough for her father was good enough for her. At the same time, it was a new idea to her that the colour of the paint might mean for her the difference between living and enjoying life, and dying in the wilderness. It made her thoughtful. It was in a milder tone that she said to Ross:
“It’s only got one wing. Is that as good as having two?”
The pilot nodded. “It’s a monoplane,” he said. “As aircraft go, it’s a very good machine. Your uncle insisted on your having the best I could get.”
“I know. I suppose that’s why it’s costing such a lot of money.”
“That’s right,” he said. “You can’t get something for nothing.”
He helped them up into the cabin and showed them the rather cramped accommodation. A good deal of the space was occupied by a large petrol tank; with the tank and the three seats there was only just room for their sleeping-bags, emergency rations, mooring and refuelling gear. The welded tubes of the structure stood bare and stark to the interior of the cabin, innocent of any trimming or upholstery.
“It all looks very
She went back to the dressing-room. Presently she reappeared, normally dressed and carrying the suit over her arm. “Mr. Ross,” she said, “I’m sure this is going to be lovely when we get up North, but I shan’t have to wear it in this weather, when we start, shall I?”
He shook his head. “Not unless you want to, Miss Lockwood. Up to Invergordon you’ll be quite all right as you are. You may want to wear it after that.”
He had their flying clothes packed up, and they took the parcels with them in the taxi to Waterloo. They had lunch in the train on their way down to Southampton. Over lunch Ross learned that Sir David was coming down from Coventry late in the afternoon to stay with them for the night and see them off.
They took a taxi to Hythe; Ross took them into the hangar and showed them the machine, standing upon its beaching wheels before the open doors, ready for flight. “There she is,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’ll get her pushed out to the slipway.”
He went off to find the foreman. The girl stared at the seaplane, the first she had ever seen. It was certainly an arresting sight. It was painted a vivid orange colour all over, wings and fuselage, relieved only by the dead-black registration letters. It was so bright it almost hurt the eyes to look at it.
Alix turned to her father. “Daddy,” she said, “it’s awful! Whatever made you have it that appalling colour?”
“I never said a word about the colour,” he replied. He hesitated uncomfortably. “It certainly is very bright.”
“It’s simply terrible. I suppose that’s his idea of what looks nice—he probably thought we’d like it. Do you think we can get it changed? We can’t go round looking like a circus.”
A squad of men began to push the seaplane out; Ross came back to them. “Like it?” he asked cheerfully.
The don said mildly: “It’s rather a conspicuous colour.”
The pilot nodded, still cheerful. “The most conspicuous one there is, on any background. You’d see that ten miles away.”
The girl said irritably: “I don’t know that we want to be quite so conspicuous as that, Mr. Ross.”
The pilot said patiently: “I had it that colour on purpose, Miss Lockwood. It’s the best colour of all for a job like this. If anything happens to us and we have to land, they’ll send out a search party for us—either by land or in another aeroplane. That colour shows up like a flame, on anybackground—snow, or trees, or grass, or water. It’s saved dozens of lives, that colour has.”
Lockwood looked at it with new interest. “That’s very sensible,” he said. “I should never have thought of that.”
Alix said nothing. In theory, she had known what she was in for; she had known that there were elements of danger in the flight, and she was not afraid of them. What was good enough for her father was good enough for her. At the same time, it was a new idea to her that the colour of the paint might mean for her the difference between living and enjoying life, and dying in the wilderness. It made her thoughtful. It was in a milder tone that she said to Ross:
“It’s only got one wing. Is that as good as having two?”
The pilot nodded. “It’s a monoplane,” he said. “As aircraft go, it’s a very good machine. Your uncle insisted on your having the best I could get.”
“I know. I suppose that’s why it’s costing such a lot of money.”
“That’s right,” he said. “You can’t get something for nothing.”
He helped them up into the cabin and showed them the rather cramped accommodation. A good deal of the space was occupied by a large petrol tank; with the tank and the three seats there was only just room for their sleeping-bags, emergency rations, mooring and refuelling gear. The welded tubes of the structure stood bare and stark to the interior of the cabin, innocent of any trimming or upholstery.
“It all looks very
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