Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net _A Mystery Story for Girls_ GYPSY FLIGHT _By_ ROY J. SNELL The Reilly & Lee Co. Chicago COPYRIGHT 1935 BY THE REILLY & LEE CO. PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I The Dark Lady 11 II The Vanishing Bag 34 III The âFlying Corntasselâ 48 IV With the Aid of Providence 58 V Danbyâs Secret 64 VI The Gypsy Witch Cards 75 VII A Strange Battle 83 VIII Trailing an Old Pal 94 IX Little Sweden 103 X One Wild Night 111 XI Goodbye Fair 118 XII Flying Through the Night 126 XIII Suspects 135 XIV Gypsy Trail 142 XV Lady Cop of the Sky 150 XVI A Suspicious Character 161 XVII A Surprise Visit 170 XVIII The Red Devil 178 XIX The Fire-Bird 189 XX Someone Vanishes 195 XXI An Astonishing Discovery 202 XXII The Silver Ship 211 XXIII The Gypsyâs Warning 217 XXIV 48-48 228 XXV Lost in the Air of Night 238 GYPSY FLIGHT CHAPTER I THE DARK LADY Rosemary Sample adjusted her jaunty cap carefully, smoothed out her well-tailored suit, then lowering her head, stepped from her trans-continental airplane. Oh yes, that was Rosemaryâs plane. Rosemary was still young, and she looked even younger than her years. A slender slip of a girl was Rosemary, rather pretty, too, with a touch of natural color and a dimple in each cheek, white even teeth, smiling eyes of deepest blue. Strange sort of person to have a huge bi-motored plane with two 555 horse-power motors and a cruising speed of one hundred and seventy miles per hour. It cost seventy thousand dollars did that airplane. Yet this slip of a girl was its captain, its conductor, its everything but pilot, as long as it hung in air. Rosemary was its stewardessâand that meant a very great deal. Rosemary stepped across the cement runway with a buoyant tread. âLife,â she thought with a happy tilt of her head, âis just wonderful! It is perfection itself.â Rosemary loved perfection. And where may one find perfection of high degree if not in a great metropolitan airport? Those giant silver birds of the air, their motors drumming in perfect unison, wheeling into position for flightâhow perfect! The touch of genius, the brain and brawn of the worldâs greatest has gone into their making. And as to the care of them, Rosemary knew that the most valuable horse in the world never received more perfect treatment. The depot, too, was perfect. Its hard white floor was spotless. The ticket sellers, the loitering aviators, even the black-faced redcaps somehow appeared to fit into a perfect picture. âThe travelers and their luggage,â she whispered, âthey too fit in. No shabby ones. No drab ones. Perââ She did not finish for of a sudden, as if caught and banged against a post, her picture was wrecked, for a young man apparently unsuited to the place had dashed through the depotâs outer door and, grasping her by the arm, said in a low hoarse whisper: âI must speak to you personally, privately.â For a space of ten seconds there was grave danger that Rosemary would deviate from the path of duty, that she would smash Rule No. 1 for all airplane hostesses into bits. âCourtesy to all,â that was the rule. And in the end the rule won. Getting a steady grip on herself, the girl glanced about, noted that the small room to the right was at that moment vacant, motioned her strangely distraught visitorâwho, if appearances could be trusted, must have slept the night before in an alley and fought six policemen single-handed in the morningâinside, after which she closed the door. âThanâoh thank you!â the young man gasped. Then for a period of seconds he seemed quite at a loss as to what he might say next. This gave the girl an opportunity for a swift character analysis. She was accustomed to this. She had flown for two years. Four hundred thousand miles of flying were down to her credit. Passengers, usually ten of them, flew with her. It was her duty to keep them comfortable and happy. To do this she must know them, though she had seen them but for an hour. âHeâs not as bad as I thought,â was her mental comment. âHeâs not been drinking. He needs sleep. Thereâs a lot of trouble somewhere. But itâs not _his_ troubleâat least not much of it. He needs help. Heââ As if reading this last thought, the youth gripped her arm to exclaim: âYou must help me!â âAll right.â Rosemary displayed all her teeth in a dazzling smile. âThatâs my job. How shall I help you?â âYouâre flying west to Salt Lake City. Plane leaves in half an hour. I must have a place in that plane.â âIâm sorry.â Rosemary truly was. She had seen most of the other passengers. They promised to be rather dull. But this young manââIâm sorry,â she repeated. âThe trip was sold out forty-eight hours ago.â âI knowââ The young manâs tone was impatient. âButâbut it must be arranged. Here!â He crowded a small roll of bills into her hand. âYou can fix it. I canât. You know who they are. There must be no fuss. No one must know. You find one. You know folks; you can pick the right one. Surely thereâs one of them that will wait until the night plane. Thatâs not sold out yet. âBe-believe me!â His eyes were appealing as he saw her waver. âItâs not for myself. If it were, Iâd never ask it. Itâitâs for a thousand others.â âNo,â Rosemary was saying under her breath, âitâs not for himself. And soââ âAll right,â she said quietly, âIâll try.â She went away swiftly, so swiftly he could not catch at her arm to thank her. On entering the main waiting room of the airport, the young stewardess looked quickly about her. Twenty or more people were in the room. Which were passengers, which mere sightseers? She knew some of the men who were to be with her on this trip. They were old-timers, mostly traveling men. She would not dare suggest to one of these that he sell his reservation. Her gaze at last became fixed upon a youth. âMust be about twenty,â she told herself. âHeâs going. First trip. Nervous, and trying not to show it. Heâll welcome a delay, like as not. Have to try.â She took in his ready-to-wear suit, his $5.99 variety of shoes, wondered vaguely why he was going by air at all, then plunged. âYou mean to tell me,â he was saying slowly three minutes later, âthat some man will give me fifty dollars just to wait six hours for the next plane? Say! Iâd wait a week. Whereâs the money?â âHere! Here it is.â Rosemary felt a great wave of relief sweep over her. She wanted to ask this youth a dozen questions, but there was not time. âWhatâs the name of the man thatâs taking your reservation?â the ticket seller asked of the ready-to-wear youth. âWhy Iââ âIâll have that for you right away, Charlie,â Rosemary broke in. âO.K.â Charlie turned to other matters. Ten minutes later Rosemary received the second shock of the day and from the same source. Someone touched her on the arm. She wheeled about to find herself looking at a young man in spotless linen, faultless gray suit and traveling cap. In his hand he carried a dark brown walrus-hide bag. âIâIâwhy youââ she stammered. âQuick change artist.â He smiled broadly. âGot hold of my bag, you see.â It was the young man who only a brief time before did not fit into her picture of perfection. âDi-did you get it?â he asked. There was a slight twitch about his mouth. She nodded. âStep over here.â âYouâre a marvel!â he murmured. âI canât tell youââ âDonât,â she warned. âYouâll have to give your name and address here,â she said in a brusque tone. Then, âHere Charlie. This is the man.â âName and address, please,â said Charlie. âDanby Force, Happy Vale, Connecticut,â said the young man promptly. âGoodbye,â said Rosemary, âIâll be seeing you.â And indeed she shouldâmany times. The power behind all things, that directs the stars in their courses, that keeps all the little streams moving downhill and notes the sparrowâs fall, had willed that their paths should cross many times and in many curious places. âThere is time,â Rosemary told herself, âfor a stroll in the open air before we take to the air.â Then, of a sudden, she recalled a curious sort of plane that had landed but a short time before. âWonder if itâs still here.â She hurried out to the landing field. âYes, there it is! I must have a look.â Speeding over the broad cement way, she crossed to a spot where a small plane rested. Truly it was a strange plane. It had been painted to represent a gigantic dragon fly. Its planes seemed thin and gauze-like. This, she knew, was pure illusion. âBut how beautiful!â she exclaimed. âYes, it is beautiful.â To her surprise, she was answered by a blonde-haired girl who had just stepped round the plane. âIsâis it yours?â she asked in surprise. âBut yes.â The strange girl spoke with a decided French accent. âI am the one they call Petite Jeanne. You have heard of me. No? Ah well, it does not matter.â She laughed a silvery laugh. She was, Rosemary noted, a slender girl with beautifully regular features and dancing eyes. âDancing feet too,â she whispered to herself. âThey are never still.â Unconsciously she had been following the girl round the plane. There, on the other side, she met with a surprise. Seated on bright colored bundles, close to a small fire over which a small teakettle steamed, was a large, stolid-looking gypsy woman and a small gypsy girl. âSo the gypsies are taking to the air!â she exclaimed. âAnd youââ she turned to the blonde girl, âare you a gypsy too?â âAs you like.â A cloud appeared to pass over the girlâs face. It was followed by a smile. âAnyway,â she said, âI am flying now. And you, since you are flying always, you may see me again in some strange new place. âIndeed,â she added after a brief silence, âMadame Bihari here, who is my foster mother, was telling my fortune with cards.â âYour fortune?â âBut yes.â The girl laughed merrily. âWhat would a gypsy be if she did not tell fortunes? âAnd in my fortune,â she went on, âI was to meet a stewardess of the air. This meeting was to lead me into strange and mysterious adventures. And now here you are. Is it not strange? It is very wonderful, truly it is, this telling fortunes with gypsy cards. You must try it.â âI will,â replied Rosemary. âBut now it is almost time for my plane. Iâll hope to be seeing you. Iââ âOne moment please!â Bending over, the blonde girl picked up three small sticks. âWherever I land,â she went on, âI shall put two sticks so, and one stick so, close to the door of the airport depot. If you see it you will know that I have been there and may be there still.â âI get you,â Rosemary laughed, âbut what do you call that?â âIt is our gypsy _patteran_,â the girl explained soberly. âIt is a custom older than any of your countryâs laws.â âGood! Iâll be seeing you!â Rosemary hurried away. She was not soon to forget this blonde-haired Petite Jeanne, whom so many of you already know well. Nor was she to forget that even the gypsies had taken to the air. After casting a practiced eye over the interior of her ship, adjusting a chair and looking to her supply of newspapers and magazines, Rosemary stepped down from the plane into the sunlight of a glorious day. A porter was wheeling the baggage cart into position, the chain was being dropped. In an even tone through a microphone the announcer was saying, âPlane No. 56 leaving for Omaha, Cheyenne, Salt Lake City and points west, now loading.â âWeâll be in the air soon,â Rosemary whispered to herself. The faintest possible thrill ran up her spine. For this very-much-alive girl, even after two years of flying, could never quite still the joy and thrill of flight. Then the sound of an excited voice reached her ears. âI must take the bag with me in the cabin,â a womanâs voice was saying. âBut that is contrary to the rules,â the attendant at the gate replied politely. âThe cabin is small. A brief case is quite all right. But bags, no. If everyone took a bag inside, thereâd be no getting about. We will give you a check for your bag. It will be locked in the baggage compartment. Nothing can happen to it. In case of loss, the Companyâs millions insure you.â âBut I wantââ The tall, dark-complexioned owner of the bag cast a sweeping glance over her fellow travelers who stood awaiting their turn at the gate. She appeared to suspect them, one and all, of having designs on her bag. The much-traveled commercial passengers smiled indulgently, two ladies gave the dark-complexioned one a half sympathetic glance. But the young man who had, through Rosemaryâs good offices, so recently acquired a place on the plane favored her with not so much as a look. He appeared to have become greatly interested in a small yellow plane that was just then taking off. âHe just _seems_ to be interested in that plane.â The thought leapt unbidden into the young stewardessâ mind. âHeâs more interested in that woman than heâd like anyone to know. I wonder why?â âOh well, if you insist!â The dark-complexioned lady dropped her bag, grabbed impatiently at the check offered for it, then hurrying past Rosemary without affording her so much as a look, climbed aboard the plane to sink into the seat farthest to the rear. âAs if she proposed to watch the others all the way to Salt Lake City,â was Rosemaryâs mental comment, although she knew the thought to be unwarranted and absurd. Ten minutes later, with all on board, they were sailing out over the city. Rosemary settled down to the business of the hour. She loved her work, did this slender girl. Hers was an unusual task. She performed it unusually well. She was in charge of the âshipâ while it was in the air. She was hostess to the ten passengers entrusted to her care. At once her alert mind took up the problems of this particular journey. She smiled as two of the four traveling men launched forth on a discussion of the countryâs economic problems. âThat settles them,â she told herself. The third traveling man buried himself in the latest newspaper, and the fourth dragged out papers from his brief case to pour over figures. Two rather flashily dressed young men, who had not slept the night before, asked for pillows. They were soon checked off to the land of dreams. Two middle-aged women began discussing the feeding and training of children. All this left to Rosemaryâs care only the dark-complexioned woman in a rear seat and the young man of great haste. âA very quiet trip,â she told herself. In this, as all too often, she was mistaken. âWhat can I do for you?â She flashed a smile at the dark-complexioned woman. She received no smile in reply. âNothing.â âMagazine? A pillow?â âNo. Nothing.â The womanâs black and piercing eyes were fixed upon her for a full ten seconds. Then they shifted to the world beneath the swiftly gliding plane. Rosemary was neither dismayed nor disheartened. There were many such people. All they wanted was to be left alone with their thoughts. Perhaps flashing through the air thousands of feet from the ground brought serious and solemn thoughts to some types of mind. She rather guessed it did. But how about the young man of great haste? He intrigued her. Perhaps he was the kind who liked to talk. If he were, then perhaps he would tell secrets. Men often told her secrets. She always guarded them well. âHe may tell me why he was in such great haste,â she thought to herself. Some people like to talk, some to listen. It is the duty of an airplane stewardess to talk or to listen as occasion demands. Rosemary was prepared in this case, as in all others, to do her duty. âStrange sort of profession, yours,â the young man said, smiling. âItâs wonderful work!â Rosemary knew on the instant that she would do most of the talking. For half an hour he asked questions and she answered them. His questions, never very personal, were about the life an airplane stewardess leads. She answered them honestly and frankly. âHe honestly wants to know,â she told herself. âHe is the type of person who absorbs knowledge as a sponge does water. Delightful sort. Iâd like to know him better.â âBut look!â he exclaimed suddenly. âThe propeller on this side is gone!â âOh, no!â She laughed low. âItâs not gone. Just going around so fast you canât see it.â âBut I saw it revolving when we started.â âWe were going slowly then.â âSo it is really still there, producing tremendous power, helping pull us alongâtons of people, mail and steelâat a hundred and seventy miles an hour! And yet we cannot see it. Marvelous! Unseen power! âDo you know,â he said, âthatâs like Godâs influence on our lives. You canât see it, you canât feel it as we feel things with our hands; yet it is there, a tremendous force in our lives.â âYes,â she agreed soberly, âit must be like that.â At that moment she found herself liking this strange young man very much. It was, she believed, because of his deeply serious thoughts. Having discovered that the two traveling salesmen had settled all the nationâs problems and were looking for reading material, she excused herself, gripped the seat ahead to steady her, then moved swiftly forward. With all her passengers happy once more, she dropped into the one vacant seat to indulge in a few moments of quiet meditation. Into this meditation there crept, as she closed her eyes, a slim girlish figure. Blonde-haired and smiling, she stood beside a plane that resembled a dragon fly. âThe flying gypsy,â she whispered. âBut is she a gypsy?â To this question she found no answer. That this slender girl was an interesting person she did not doubt. She found herself hoping that the gypsy womanâs fortune telling might prove a successâthat they might meet many times. âMystery and adventure, those were the words she used.â Mystery and adventure. Well, this day had not been without its mystery. There was the strange man, Danby Force, and his urgent need for going somewhere. Then too there was the dark woman with the bag which she had all but refused to trust away from her, even in the locked compartment of a trans-continental plane. What could she have in that bag? The girl thought of one instance when it had been believed that high explosives carried in a bag on an air-liner had brought disaster to a score of persons. âBut of course it would not be that,â she told herself. Rising from her place, she moved back to where the dark-faced one rode. She seemed fast asleep. But was this only a pose? She could not tell. Someone forward beckoned to her. Routine duties were resumed. The hours passed quietly. At five oâclock they were over the Rockies. Marvelous moment! The golden sun was sinking over the distant prairies. The mountains, half white with snow, half green with forests, lay beneath them. They were beyond the timber line. Suddenly the co-pilotâs light blinked at the back of the cabin. âSignaling for me. I wonder why.â She moved swiftly forward. âA storm roaring up the mountains from the west.â Mark Morris, the young co-pilot, spoke in short jerky sentences. âGoing down here. Landing field of a sort. Laid out on the plateau. Hunting lodge below. No real danger. Get straps hooked up. Usual stuff.â Rosemary understood. She passed swiftly along the aisle. A word, a whisper, a smile, that quiet, care-free air of hers did the work. âForced landing. What of that?â This was what the passengers read in her face. What indeed? They swooped downward, bumped with something of a shock, bumped more lightly, glided forward, then came to a standstill. The tall dark woman sprang to her feet, threw open the door, then swung herself down. She was wearing low shoes and sheer silk stockings. She landed squarely in eighteen inches of snow. âWait!â Rosemary cried in dismay. âGive her a hand up, some of you men. Iâll fix you all up right away.â There were, of course, neither high boots nor leggings in the airplane cabin, but Rosemary was equal to the occasion. Tearing up a blanket, she was soon busy fashioning moccasins for the ladies. âTie these cords about the bottoms of your trousers,â she said to the men. âYes, weâll go down to the hunting lodge. Be three or four hours anyway.â âWhereâs the trail?â She spoke now to the young co-pilot. âSee that big rock?â âYes.â âBlazed trail starts there. Easy to follow. About half a mile. Fine place. Been there three times. Big fireplace. Bacon and other things to eat. Youâll enjoy your stay,â he chuckled. âAll airways are beaten trails to our pilots,â Rosemary murmured. A cold wind came sweeping up the mountain. Sharp bits of snow cut at their cheeks. They were impatient to make a start when, as before, the dark-faced lady held them up. âMy bag!â she exclaimed. âI must have it!â âSafe enough here,â said Mark. âAll locked up. Weâre staying, the pilot and I.â âBut I insist!â She stamped the ground impatiently. Five minutes of chilling delay, and she had it. Nor would she relinquish its care to the most courteous traveling man. She plunged through the snow with it banging at her side. âQueer about that bag,â Rosemary murmured to Danby Force, who marched at her side. To her surprise he shot her a strangeâperhaps, she thought, a startled look. âAs if I had discovered some secret,â she thought to herself. âWell, I havenâtânot yet.â After floundering through the snow for some distance, they came at last to a spot where a trail wound down the mountainside. Ten minutes of following this trail brought them to a long, low, broad-roofed building that, in the gathering darkness, seemed gloomy and forbidding. âFine place for a murder,â Danby Force whispered to Rosemary. âDonât say that!â She shuddered. Stamping their feet on the broad veranda, they pushed the door open and entered. Danby Force struck a match. Directly before him, at the opposite side of the room, was a fire all laid in a broad fireplace. The young manâs second match set a mellow glow of light from the dancing flames searching out every dark corner. For the time at least, the place lost its forbidding aspect. Indeed it might well have been the banquet hall of some ancient British hunting lodge, of long ago. Nor was the banquet lacking. Rosemary Sample was from Kansas. And in Kansas mothers teach their daughters to cook. Fragrant coffee, crisp bacon, candied sweet potatoes, plum pudding from a can, steamed to a delicious finenessâthis was the repast she prepared for the guests of her trans-continental airplane. All thoughts of the dark-faced ladyâs mysterious bag, of Danby Forceâs urgent need, and of the gypsiesâ fortune telling were forgotten in the merriment that followed. One of the college youths, who had slept all the day, discovered an ancient accordion and at once began playing delirious music. The rough floor was cleared and all joined in a wild danceâall but the dark-faced one who sat gloomily in a corner. From time to time as the music died away, Rosemary listened for the sounds that came down the chimney. There was a whistle and a moan, the sighing of evergreen trees and then a rushing roar as if a giant were blowing across a mammoth bottle. âBe here all night,â she said to Danby Force at last. âGuess so. Fine place for a murder.â He smiled at her in a curious way as he repeated that weird remark of a few hours before. âStrange place for aââ Rosemary could not make her lips form that remaining word as, two hours later, staring into the dark, she whispered that line. She was in the bunk room at the back of the lodge. The women of the company were all sleeping there. The men had cots before the fire in the main room. The dark lady had dragged her traveling bag into the farthest corner and had crept beneath her blankets after very little undressing. A very strange person, this dark lady. Rosemary did not exactly like her, but found in her a certain fascination. Even now, as she turned her face toward that corner, she fancied that she could see her eyes shining like a catâs eyes in the dark. Pure fancy, she knew, but disturbing for all that. Just when she fell asleep she never quite knew. She was always definite about the time of wakingâit was just at the break of dawn. She was startled out of deep sleep by a sudden piercing scream. Instantly Danby Forceâs words came to her. âFine place for a murder.â But there had been no murder. CHAPTER II THE VANISHING BAG âMy bag! It is gone! My traveling bag! It has been stolen!â The young stewardess knew on the instant that the dark-faced lady was the one who was screaming. That the bag was truly missing she did not doubt. âWell, itâs happened,â she thought to herself as she tumbled from her bunk. What she said to the dark-faced lady was done in a more official manner: âIâm sure it canât be far away. Someone has moved it by mistake. Weâll dress, then we will have a look.â Her tone was calm enough, though her heart was not. They did dress and they did have a lookâseveral looks, but all to no avail. To Rosemary this was distressing. The whole affair had gone off so extremely well until now. Of course no one had wished to be delayed on the journey, but the evening in the lodge had been a delightful one. She had planned waffles with real maple syrup and coffee for breakfast. And now came this. It was disheartening. Here in the gloom of early morning was the dark-faced woman claiming that her traveling bag had been taken. And who, in the end, could doubt it? It surely was not to be seen in the bunk room. Everything was turned over there except the dark oneâs bunk which had been made up. And of course in a bunk flat as a pancake one does not look for a sizable traveling bag stuffed with all manner of things. It was not in the large outer room either. When they went outside to see if some person might have crept in and taken it, or, as the dark-faced one insisted, âcrept out to hide itâ there was the clean white snow with never a track save the half-buried one of Mark Morris coming to report on the progress of the storm some hours before. âItâs the strangest thing!â said Rosemary, for once finding herself quite out of bounds. âIt canât have gotten away. It just canât!â âI insist that every person in the place be searched!â the dark woman demanded. âWhat! Search our pockets for a traveling bag?â A rotund drummer roared with laughter. âNot for the bag, but for the valuable papers I carried. The bag, more than likely, has been burned in the fireplace.â âAbsurd!â exclaimed one of the middle-aged ladies. âLeather creates a terrible odor when burned.â âWho said it was leather?â snapped the inquisitor. âIt was, I believe, fiber.â In the end, for the good of her companyâs reputation, Rosemary persuaded them to submit to a search of a sort. The men emptied their pockets, then turned them inside out. The dark-faced woman went over the other women with hands that suggested they might have been used for that same purpose often, so deft, precise and cat-like were her motions. It was while the men were going through their part of the performance that the young stewardess noticed a curious thing. The woman watched them all with what appeared to be slight interest until it came the turn of Danby Force who had paid so high a price for his reservation on this plane. Then it seemed to the girl that veritable sparks of fire shot from the black eyes of the woman. That she took in every detail was evident. That a look of grim satisfaction, seeming to say, âAh ha! It is as I thought!â settled on the womanâs face at that moment, the girl could not for a moment doubt. âBut why?â she asked herself. âWhy?â To this question she could form no sensible answer for, as in all other cases, the woman said in a low tone: âNone of these are mine.â Just then the airplane pilot came in to tell them that the storm was at an end and they might resume their journey. In the rush of preparation, the hurried brewing of coffee, the hasty eating of a rather meager breakfast, the dark-faced woman and her vanished traveling bag were pretty much forgotten. When at last the travelers were on their way, walking single-file up the steep incline, Rosemary found herself standing quite unexpectedly beside the strange young man, Danby Force. âWonderful place, this lodge!â he was saying. âWouldnât mind coming up here for a week sometime.â âNor I!â Rosemary spoke with unfeigned enthusiasm. And who would not? They were standing on a broad ledge. Above them, seeming to melt into the fleecy clouds, was the mountainâs snowy peak. Below, a sheer drop of a thousand feet, was a very narrow valley all covered with the dark green of pine, spruce, cedar and tamarack. The air was rich with the fragrance of the forest. âOne of the high officials in our company is a member,â Rosemary said, nodding back at the lodge. âThatâs why we are free to use it.â âI fancy I shall be coming back.â The young man spoke slowly. He looked her squarely in the eyes. Then turning, he followed swiftly after the others. âWhat did he mean by that?â Rosemary asked herself. A strange thought leaped unbidden into her mind. âSupposing the young man took the missing bag and hid it somewhere about the place? âNonsense!â she whispered. âWhere could he have hidden it? No one had been outside, absolutely no one. And if he did take it, surely he would not tell me he hoped to return.â Then a strange fact struck herâthe look on this young manâs face had changed. When she first saw him he had the appearance of one who had gone through much, who was still haunted by the thought of some great loss. Now his face was as bland and cheerful as an early spring morning. âWhat am I to make of that?â she asked herself. The answer in the end appeared simple enough, âOne good nightâs sleep.â This, she knew full well, was capable of working wonders on a young and buoyant spirit. It is strange the manner in which a single incident may change the whole course of thought for an entire group. As they resumed their journey to Salt Lake City, no one in the plane discussed economic conditions or child welfare. No one read. No one wrote or figured. When they spoke it was in low tones just above the roar of the motors. And Rosemary, though she heard never a word, knew they talked of the dark-faced woman and her missing bag. âAnd those who do not talk are thinking of it,â she told herself. âAnd it _is_ strange! What can have become of that bag?â As if reading her thoughts, Danby Force leaned across the aisle to say in a low distinct tone: âI fancy Santa Claus must have come down that broad chimney and carried it off.â Those were the only words spoken to her until they were nearing their destination. Then that strange young man leaned over once more to say: âCurious sort of job youâve got here! Necessary enough, though. And you fit in very well, I can see that. I am no end grateful for what you did back there in Chicago. You saved the situation for me, you surely did! Hope I may travel with you often. This is my first trip by air, but not the lastâyou may be assured of that. I enjoy being carried along by thisâthis invisible power.â He chuckled. âAnd IâI like the company, if you donât mind my saying it.â âNot in the least. Iâve enjoyed knowing you.â Rosemary was vexed at herself for saying so trite a thing. Truth was, her mind was still filled with that missing bag. That the dark-faced woman would report the loss to the office and that there would be no end of fuss about it, she did not doubt. âIâIâd like to know you better,â she added as a kind of after-thought, as she favored Danby Force with a smile. âYou will,â he prophesied, âOh yes, I am sure you will.â âAnd if I donât,â she told herself a moment later, âI shanât know much except that he says his name is Danby Force and that he fancies, at least, that he can be of service to a few thousand people. Wellââ she sighed, âthatâs really something, if itâs not pure fancy.â The landing field at Salt Lake City seemed hot after their rapid gliding down from the lands of perpetual snow. In spite of this, Rosemary Sample breathed a sigh of relief. Her journey was over. From this point the party would break up. She would rest for a few hours, then go soaring back to home base where she was to have two whole days to herself. âGuess weâd better stick around for a bit,â suggested the pilot. âThat woman will be putting in a complaint. Weâll have to tell what we know. âFor that matter, though,â he added, âI canât see that we have much responsibility in the matter. She refused to leave the bag locked in the plane where it would have been safe. Took the matter in her own hands. The bag was in her possession when it disappeared. Soâo!â He smiled. âThat about lets us out. Weâ âLook there!â he exclaimed suddenly. âEven the gypsies are taking to the air.â At that moment a stout dark-faced woman, wearing the typical gypsy garb, broad, bright-colored skirt and dazzling silk scarf tied about her head, was alighting from a small cabin-type monoplane. The plane was like a huge dragon fly. It had a bottle-green body and silver wings that glistened like glass in the sun. The stout, dark woman was followed by a girl of some eight years. And after her, in a pilotâs garb, came a golden-haired girl who did not look a day over eighteen. âItâs strange!â Rosemaryâs tone expressed her surprise. âI saw those same people in Chicago, just before we took off. And now, here they are right with us.â âNot so strange,â replied the pilot. âThat giant bug of hers may be quite speedy. They probably took off later than we did and just in time to miss the storm. âBut look!â he exclaimed, âIf that sort of thing is allowed to go on, what is to come of this bright new thing we call aviation? Thereâll be a crack-up every day in the week. The papers will be full of them and no one will dare to travel by air. And all that because of rank amateurs and lax regulations. Iâm starting an investigation right now.â âNice plane you have,â he said to the golden-haired girl. âOh yes, but perhaps a little too small.â The girl spoke with a pleasing foreign accent. âYouâre not a gypsy?â The veteran pilot smiled in spite of himself. âBut no.â The girl smiled back. âNot entirely. I am French. People call me Petite Jeanne. I was adopted by gypsies in France. Oh so good, Christian gypsies! This lady is Mrs. Bihari, my foster mother.â âI suppose,â said Mark with a laugh, âthat you traded a flivver for an automobile, the auto for a better one, the better one for a poor airplane, the poor plane for a good one?â âBut no!â The golden-haired girl frowned. âA year ago my own people were found in France. I had inherited property. This is my very own plane. And see!â She held out a paper. âThis is my license to fly.â âMind if I take your ship up for a little spin?â Mark said bluntly. âBut no.â The girl spoke slowly. âThat is, if I may go, and if she will go with us.â She nodded her head toward Rosemary. Rosemary had little desire to fly in a small plane. She had always traveled in the magnificent big bi-motored transportation planes which, she believed, were safe as walking. She had it on the tip of her tongue to refuse, when the girl cast her an appealing look that she could not well disregard. âYes,â she said, âyes, surely I will go.â Three minutes later they were in the air. Ten minutes later, with a sigh of relief Rosemary found her feet once more on the solid earth. âYouâd be surprised!â Mark whispered enthusiastically. âNever saw a better equipped plane, nor one in finer condition. That motor is a joy! The radio is perfect. Everything, just everything. If all the amateurs were as careful this world of the air would be one great big joy.â âWonderful little plane!â he exclaimed, gripping the little French girlâs hand. âAnd how wonderfully cared for!â âBut why not?â The girl showed all her white teeth in a smile. âWe gypsy people have a saying, âLife is Godâs most beautiful gift to man.â This is true, I am sure. Then why should anyone do less than the very best that he might keep that gift?â âWhy indeed? And thanks for the good word.â âDo you travel much?â It was a new voice that asked this question. The rather mysterious Danby Force had come up unobserved. âOh yes! We are gypsies. All gypsies travel much,â was the girlâs reply. âWhere will you go next?â âOver the mountains to Cheyenne.â âAh, then you will be going part way back the way we came,â Danby Force said. There was an eager note in his voice. âI wonder if it would be possible for you to take a passenger and to pause for a brief time at a safe landing field?â Rosemary started. So Danby Force meant to return. He was going back to the lodge. Had he, after all, taken the dark-faced ladyâs bag? Had he hidden it there? Would he return and carry it away? If so, why? Why? Such were the questions that crowded her mind. And she did not like them. She _did_ like Danby Force. She wanted to believe that he was incapable of doing a thing dishonest or dishonorable. She had not forgotten his delightful words about Godâs invisible power in our lives. But the little French girl was speaking. âIf it will help someone,â she was saying. âWe will take you over the mountains and stop at this safe place you speak of.â âIt will helpâhelp a great deal, I assure you!â Danby Force exclaimed. âIt may help three thousand people.â âThere it is again,â Rosemary thought. âAlways speaking of thousands.â âWe might as well get over to the airport,â Mark, the pilot, suggested to Rosemary. âThe dark lady has had ample time to lodge her complaint.â They went, but much to their surprise found that no complaint had been filed. What was more, the dark lady had vanished. No one about the place could tell them how she had gone, nor where. âItâs the strangest business I ever had anything to do with!â Mark grumbled. âLoses her bag, valuable papers and all, and still no complaint. But believe me!â he exclaimed, âweâve not heard the last of this!â Nor had they. CHAPTER III THE âFLYING CORNTASSELâ The evening after her arrival in Salt Lake City, Rosemary Sample, the young airplane stewardess, overheard a conversation that interested her greatly and at the same time strengthened her faith in the rather mysterious young man, Danby Force. She might have thought of herself as an eavesdropper had not the incident occurred in that most public of all public places, the lobby of a large hotel, the Hotel Temple Square. Not that she was staying at so expensive a place. Far from that, she occupied a room in a clean, modest-priced rooming house. But Rosemary had a weakness for large downy chairs, soft lights, expensive draperies and all that and, since at this time of year this hotel was not crowded, she could see no reason why she might not indulge these tastes for an hour or two at least. She was buried deep in a heavily upholstered chair, thinking dreamily of her home in Kansas, of her mother, father, and the young people of the old crowd back home. She was smiling at the name they had given her, âThe Flying Corntassel of Kansas,â when, chancing to look up, she beheld a vision of beauty all wrapped in deep purple and white. To her astonishment she realized that this was none other than the flying gypsyâs adopted daughter who called herself Petite Jeanne. She wore a long cape of purple cloth trimmed with white fox fur. At the same moment someone else caught the vision, Danby Force. And Danby Force had something to say about it. âWhat a gorgeous cape, and what marvelous color!â he exclaimed. There was in his tone not a trace of flattery. He spoke with the sincerity of one who really knows beauty of texture when he sees it. âYes,â the little French girl agreed, âit is very beautiful. It was sent to me only last month by my gypsy friends in France. Since I have had a little money I have helped them at times. Their life is hard. These days are very hard. âThe cloth,â she went on after a time, âwas woven by hand from pure sheepâs wool taken from the high French Alps.â âAnd the color?â Danby Force asked eagerly. âAh-hââ the little French girl smiled. âThat is a deep secret that only the gypsies know. There are those who say the kettle of color only boils at midnight and that then the color is mixed with blood. That is nonsense. These are good gypsies, Christian gypsies, just as the great preacher, Gypsy Smith was. But they have their secrets and they keep them well. âPerhaps,â she added after a momentâs thought, âthis is the royal purple one reads of in the Bible. Who can tell?â âThat,â said Danby Force, âis a valuable secret.â He motioned the little French girl to a seat and took one close beside her. âI know a man,â he said after a moment of silence, âwho made some valuable discoveries regarding colors. He could dye cloth in such a manner that it would not fade, yet the process was not costly. âThis man had spent his boyhood in a town where textile mills had flourished. After his remarkable secret discoveries he returned to that town to find the people idle, the mills falling into decay. The weaving industry had moved south where there was cotton and cheap laborâpitifully cheap!â Danby Force paused to stare at the pattern of the thick carpet on the floor. He appeared to be making a mental comparison between that carpet and the cheap rag rugs on the floors in that forgotten town. Rosemary stole a look at the little French girlâs face. It was all compassion. âAnd this little forgotten town?â suggested Petite Jeanne at last. âIt is forgotten no longer.â Danby Force smiled a rare smile. âThe man who possessed those rare secrets of color gave them to his home town. Since they were able to produce cloth that was cheap, and better than any other of its kind, the mills began to flourish again and the people to work and smile. âBut now,â he added as a shadow passed over his interesting face, âtheir prosperity is threatened once more.â Then, as if he had been about to divulge a forbidden secret, he sprang to his feet. âI must be going. We leave at eight. That right?â âIt is quite right,â agreed Petite Jeanne. Rosemary Sample went to her rest that night with a strange sense of futile longing gnawing at her heart. What was its cause? She could not tell. Had she become truly interested in that strange young man, Danby Force, who talked so beautifully of Godâs unseen power, who spoke of doing good to thousands, and yet who might haveâ. She would not say it even to herself, yet she could not avoid thinking. Could she become seriously interested in such a young man? She could not be sure. âThat charming little French girl is carrying him away in the morning,â she assured herself. âI may never see him again. âHe is going back to the hunting lodge. I wonderââ She tried to picture in her mind the bit of lifeâs drama that would be enacted by Danby Force and the little French girl after they had landed and gone down the narrow trail to the lodge. In the midst of this rather vain imagining she fell asleep. She awoke next morning prepared for one more journey through the air, one more group of passengers. âWonder if there will be any interesting ones?â she whispered. âWonder if that dark-faced woman will return with me?â She shuddered. âSheâs like a raven, Poeâs raven. Wonder if sheâs filed a complaint about her missing bag. And if she has, what will come of it?â After oatmeal, coffee and rolls eaten at a counter with the capable and ever friendly Mark Morris at her side, she felt well fortified for the dayâs adventures, come what might. We advertise our occupation in life by the posture we assume. The barber has his way of standing that marks him as a barber. The clerk of a department store puts on a mask in the morning and takes it off at night. The posture of an airplane stewardess is one suggesting the jaunty joy of life pictured by a blue bird on the tiptop of a tree, seventy feet in air. âSafe?â her posture says plainer than words. âOf course itâs safe to fly. Look at me, Iâve flown four hundred thousand miles.â Rosemary Sample was an airplane stewardess to the very tips of her fingers. Her task was a dual one, to inspire confidence and to entertain. She did both extremely well. Yet she too must be entertained. She must receive a thrill now and again. Riding in a plane brought no thrill to her. Only her passengers could bring her the change she craved. âThereâs always one,â she had a way of saying to her friends, âone passenger who is worth five hours of study.â She was not long in finding the âoneâ on this journey back to Chicago. Strangely enough, he took the seat vacated by the dark-complexioned lady. Yet, how different he was! He was young, not much over twenty, Rosemary thought. âHello, little girl!â were his first words. âWhatâs your name?â âRosemary Sample.â She smiled because she was saying to herself, âHeâll do the talking. Thatâs fine. Iâm too tired to talk.â âSo youâre a sample.â He laughed. âIâd like a dollar bottle of the same.â âA sampleâs all there is and all there can be,â she replied quickly. âWhat! You mean to say you couldnât grow?â âExactly. Five feet four inches tall, weight a hundred and twenty pounds. Those are the regulations for a stewardess. You can be smaller, but no larger. You see,â she laughed, âthey couldnât make the airplane cabins to fit the stewardesses, tall, short, thin or thick, so the stewardess must be picked to fit the cabin.â âOh!â The young manâs grin was frank, honest and friendly. âWell, this is my first trip in these big birds. Iâve got a little ship all my own, only just now sheâs busted up quite a bit.â âCracked up? Too bad!â Rosemary was truly sorry. She was going to like this passenger. Besides, to one who sails
{'title': 'Gypsy Flight by Roy J. Snell', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}