“Hey!” I muttered. “Bob’s wife is gettin’ thin, Russ.” But it wasn’t Bob’s wife. It was a knickered lady with blonde hair and a pretty face. We saw that as they got up close; and we saw, also, that she carried a helmet and goggles in her left hand. Russ groaned. “Here comes _more_ trouble,” he stated grimly. “Bob’s had an idea.” They came up and we got off the oil cans. Brooks introduced the lady. Her name was Joan West, and she was better looking the closer you got to her, which isn’t the usual thing. She gave us a smile that was one hundred per cent perfect. Bob started talking about the weather, about the latest flight across the Atlantic--about everything but what he wanted to tell us. Finally he got around to it. “Miss West,” he said cheerfully, “is going to work with us tomorrow.” I stiffened. Russ groaned. There was a little silence. “That’ll be great,” I managed after a few seconds. “Fine.” * * * * * Russ managed something that was close to a smile. But he didn’t say anything. Bob Brooks nodded his head. “It ought to be good,” he stated quietly. “Miss West is making a plane transfer--without the usual rope ladder. Wing to wing.” I regarded the girl with considerable admiration. There aren’t many boys or girls doing it that way. A rope ladder dangling from the plane above means clearance. Either ship can hit a bump--drop or rise--and have air. But in order to go from plane to plane _without_ a rope ladder, that means one wing-tip must come within four or five feet of the other. It’s a tough way of shifting ships. Russ grunted. “First time you’ve done it that way, Miss West?” he asked grimly. The girl laughed. “It’ll be the second,” she said slowly. “I tried it one other time, but the ships--” “Yeah--it’ll be a good one,” Bob cut in sort of loudly, and I figured right away that he was trying to cover something up. But so did Russ Healy. “_What_ happened the other time?” he asked. The girl looked at Bob, then at me. She spoke in a cheerful tone. “The ships got tangled up,” she stated. “But the pilots weren’t as expert, I’m sure, as you men.” I grinned. Bob Brooks grinned. Russ Healy nodded his head slowly. “Maybe not,” he agreed, but his tone wasn’t exactly convincing. “We’ll work it this way--” Bob said slowly. “Mac, here--he’ll fly Miss West up in a D.H. She’ll do some wing work, and then you get off in the Old Lady, Russ. She’ll work off the left wing. You get your right wing just over it. We’ll rig on a wood loop-grip for her, and she’ll swing off and climb up. A few more stunts on the upper surface--then you can come down.” “If not sooner,” Russ muttered. “Well, you’re the boss.” Bob nodded. “Now, the camera-ship’ll be winging as close in as--” Russ let out a roar. The girl looked startled. Bob stopped talking. “Nothing doing!” Russ snapped grimly. “What do you mean, camera-ship?”