“Laura Ingalls is the stunt flyer of the women. She came out of the middle-west, from Missouri. She took to music and dancing first to express her restless spirit, and then found that it was flying that would express her best. So she went to a government-approved school, and became an expert, daring flyer. She is the holder of the record for loop-the-loops for women, and of the barrel roll record for both men and women. She is interested in the progress of aviation, but gets a great thrill out of merely flying for its own sake.” Mrs. Martin paused. “I guess that gives you an idea,” she said, “what women are doing nowadays.” “Women have always done the great things in aviation,” said Mrs. Gregg. “They stay home and wait while the men are risking their lives. Waiting is harder than doing. “Women haven’t a monopoly on that,” said Bob. “What about Mr. Putnam, who waited at home while his wife flew the ocean?” Everybody laughed. “You’re right, Bob,” said Mrs. Gregg. Then she added, “It’s getting pretty late. How about our going, Hal?” The two of them cut across the garden to their home. CHAPTER X—Hawks and Doolittle The next day was spent in a pleasantly muddled state, getting Hal ready to go with them, and putting the finishing touches to their own equipment. Stout boots, fishing lines, flies, everything on their lists was gradually being checked off. Late in the afternoon they had a breathing space, and Bob remembered that it was Pat’s turn to tell his story. “Come on, Pat, you might as well get it over with,” said Bob. “We haven’t anything else to do, anyway.” “You’re mighty impudent for a young one, Bob, my lad,” said Pat. “Just because you’ve made a solo flight doesn’t mean that you’re wings are dry yet. You might know that any story I’d tell would be good.” “Oh, Patrick, you’ll have to prove that,” said the Captain. “I’ve heard some pretty awful ones from you. Haven’t I?” “It must have been two other fellows,” said Pat. “But I’ll begin. And I won’t take so long, either. I’m not one of these long winded story tellers,” he said significantly. “Get on, get on.” This from Captain Bill. “My two boys are the speedy two, all right,” began Pat. “Speed was their middle name. Their real names were—well, you probably have guessed. It’s not a secret—Frank Hawks and Jimmie Doolittle. Beg pardon, maybe I had better say Lieutenant Commander Frank Hawks of the United States Naval Reserve, the holder of some 30 inter-city aviation records, etcetera, etcetera; and maybe it would be more proper to talk about James Doolittle, M.S.; D.A.E.. But what’s the use of the titles? They’re just Frank and Jimmie, two of the squarest shooters in the game.