The Highflyers

Excerpt: Fred la Mothe was speaking. After a certain number of beverages composed of Scotch whisky, imported soda, and a cube of ice, it was a matter of comparative ease for him to exhibit a notable fluency. After two o?clock in the afternoon Fred was generally fluent. ???Tain?t safe,? I says to him. And the wind was blowin? enough to lift the hair out of your head. ?I wouldn?t go up in the thing for the price of it,? I says, ?and, besides, you?re seein? two of it. Bad enough drivin? a car when you?re lit up,? I says, ?but what these flyin? machines want is a still day and a man that?s cold sober. You just let it rest on its little perch in the bird-cage.?? Fred refreshed his parched throat while his four companions waited for the conclusion of the tale. ??You?ll bust your neck,? I told him. ??Ten to one,? says he, ?I round Windmill Point Light and come back without bustin? my neck. Even money I make it without bustin? anything,? says he. ??Dinner for four at the Tuller to-night that the least you bust is a leg,? I says, and the wind whipped the hat off my head and whirled it into a tree.? Fred stopped, evidently mourning the loss of his hat.