“Get in—all of you. Fill up those three seats, and crowd on that freight-platform,” bellowed Poodle. The sailing-master was a commanding figure, even in his drenched uniform. He was large and dignified and used to ordering people about. But he came up to Poodle as though that youth owned the yacht and the sea. “Isn’t the space too small for all—?” he began respectfully. “No! Get in. Quick All’v you!” roared Poodle, leaning back sturdily on his short plump legs. Lean, sinewy Hike grinned—tired though he was from the struggle with the winds—to see his chum taking command. The sailing-master hesitated. He looked from Poodle’s chubby young face to the great flying-machine, then back, then suddenly shrugged his shoulders and roared to his crew: “Get in there. All of you.... I’ll follow them,” he finished, turning back to Poodle. Packed like herrings in a barrel, the crew clung together on the platform aft of the aviator’s seat, where once two thousand pounds of Martin Priest’s baggage had ridden. The sailing-master slipped into one seat, Poodle into another, and they were ready. Hike started the engine, and the tetrahedral ran along the flimsy planks which had been laid for a runway. She bounced off them, raised, whirled out, kicked up spray, and then shot up, wavering. Hike had never been so much on the job before in all his life. He was frightened, for fourteen lives besides his depended on him. He almost deflected the elevator, which would have sent them down into the sea. But he kicked himself into courage, and studied the air-currents made by sea and cliffs. With all this load, and their bad start from slippery planks, the _Hustle_ was wobbly and sulky. But he worked her up, up, toward the top of the cliffs, when he wanted—oh! so awfully! to let her run low. He cleared the top of the cliffs, ran down the wind, and, shutting off the motor, made a safe landing in a stretch of chaparral. The sailing-master crawled out and silently held out his hand to Hike, then to Poodle. As he did so, the owner of the yacht rushed up, and held out his hand, too. Then there was a rush of people, while the owner’s wife began to cry with relief. “Please tell me—now—what I can do in return,” began the owner. “I’m pretty well off—” “Just two things,” croaked Hike, huskily. “Keep this out of the papers—don’t say how you got rescued. And then maybe some day I may come buttin’ in asking you if you won’t put some capital behind the inventor of this aeroplane. As a business proposition. Gee, I’m tired. I’m going to beat it back home. Come on, Poodle. Crawl in. Say, you people, I guess from the way it looks when you’re way up in the aeroplane, you’ll find a road about a mile east of here. I’ll tell your people you’re on it—have ’em send teams. So long.” Blushing at making so long a speech before so many people, Hike again started his motor, and was off for home. CHAPTER VI GO!