The Atlantic Sky by Betty Beaty Read Free Book Online Page B

great bellow, ‘Cross-bee !’
    Mr. Crosbie emerged from the hangar office, and Mr. McWhirter added, ‘Chute!’ Then he dived behind the back seat and produced a cloth-covered pack, which he unzipped to reveal a fluttering long white envelope. ‘Escape chute,’ he ' said. ‘Nylon. Shoes must be removed when used, lest they damage the fabric.’ Then unexpectedly, he turned to them and grinned. ‘Well ... who’s number one?’
    It was obviously Mr. McWhirter’s treat for a good class. While he fixed the chute to the door, the girls chatted and jostled, holding their shoes obediently in their hands. Down they went, one by one. Patsy heard a soft whooshing noise as she slid, and then Mr. Crosbie above her saying. ‘Eight.’ The last girl was Myra Yorke. ‘All yours,’ Mr. McWhirter called out, not without relief.
    ‘Sixteen,’ Mr. Crosbie said to himself, and then to the girls, who were giggling and laughing as they put on their shoes, ‘Now ladies, we’ve had our bit of fun. Back to work! No more skylarking, if you please,’ and away he led them to the stuffy classroom for the rest of the afternoon.
    The very next day, to everyone’s surprise, Mr. Crosbie announced, ‘Ladies, airborne training will commence ... today.’
    However, he was wrong. The aeroplane was unserviceable, and didn’t fly.
    ‘Ladies,’ he said three days later, ‘airborne training will commence ... today.’
    But once more he was wrong. Fog came down suddenly, and flying was suspended.
    So it wasn’t surprising, when after the weekend again he began by telling them that today was the day, that a murmur of doubt and faint derision ran through the class.
    ‘When today, Mr. Crosbie?’ Cynthia asked cynically.
    Mr. Crosbie smiled triumphantly. ‘This minute, Miss Waring,’ he said, and led the way to the tarmac, just beside Operations.
    It was a boisterous autumn day. Alternate clear skies and windblown swift-moving cloud chequered the airport with sunshine and shade. They stood in the doorway of World-Span Operations, excitedly watching the mechanics moving over the silver wings of an Astroliner.
    ‘Don’t look now,’ Cynthia said suddenly, gripping Patsy’s arm, ‘but don’t my sharp eyes perceive a rather fearsome sight?’ And then as Patsy looked around her uncomprehendingly, ‘Under the wing, the left-hand one ... beg pardon, under the port wing.’
    Patsy looked. There, standing with his hands thrust into the pockets of his raincoat, was Captain Prentice.
    Seeing him, too, Mr. Crosbie became more and more mother-hen-like. ‘Hurry up at the back there!’ he said, flapping to the rear of the brood. ‘Straight up and into the aircraft ... not so slow at the front!’ And he hurried again to lend the weight of his presence to the vanguard. ‘Haven’t kept you, I hope, Captain? We’ve been awaiting our call to come aboard over there in the doorway.’
    Captain Prentice, who up till now had said nothing, indicated that they had not, in fact, kept him waiting. He continued, however, to stare so disapprovingly at his eager passengers that everyone felt that they must be in the wrong about something, and Air Crosbie tactfully herded them up the steps and into the aircraft, and out of his sight.
    ‘Well,’ Cynthia said, looking around her approvingly. ‘One of the new ones today!’ She tried one of the fresh upholstered seats and stroked the arm-rests affectionately.
    ‘Sit down, sit down!’ Mr. Crosbie said irritably. ‘Don’t just hang around the entrance! Now the last one in ... yes, that’s right, you, Miss Aylmer, shut the door. Come, come now. You’ve been taught how to do it. Better... better. Ah, quite good! Now while you’re at it, what would you do next?’
    ‘Er—strap the passengers in, Mr. Crosbie ... sir?’
    ‘Quite right!’ Mr. Crosbie rubbed his thin hands together, while the girls settled themselves in their seats, and rather clumsily fastened their lap straps. There was a faint shudder