Part 32 (1/2)
”I go due East by this,” he said. ”Slightly to the North until after the Rockies, and then straight as an arrow to Chicago. It will be a rough sail over the Rocky Mountains. All those canyons and crevices and valleys are so many suction holes to the aeroplanist. But the air over the prairie country is as smooth as a lake in the summer time.”
There was no lingering over the supper, good as it tasted, and before twilight deepened into misty gray, Peter Van Vechten had said good-by to the Motor Maids and Miss Campbell.
He seated himself in his aeroplane. The motor began whirring busily, and presently the machine rolled on the ground for a brief instant and began rising slowly and easily. He waved his hand and smiled to them as he mounted the air. Then away he flew and in three minutes was a speck in the distance.
Miss Campbell's eyes filled with tears.
”I do hope and pray he'll get there safely,” she said.
”He is one of those people who always make one feel lonesome after he goes away,” observed Mary still watching the horizon.
The young aeroplanist was indeed one of those rare persons the charm of whose presence still lingers after he has departed, like the vibrations after a chord of music.
But the adventure was over. He was flying East and their path was due West, and they must be getting on their way before night set in.
CHAPTER XXII.-A BIT OF OLD ITALY.
It was August 22, Miss Campbell's birthday, although she herself had quite forgotten it, this being a celebration she was careful not to remember.
The girls had been planning for a long time to give her a birthday party. It was to be a surprise picnic wherever they happened to be between Sacramento and San Francisco. It was Evelyn who chose the spot for the party and who guided them to a lovely vineyard planted on terraces up the side of a mountain with a little valley smiling at its feet.
”The owners of the vineyard are Italians, all of them,” said Evelyn, ”and you will certainly feel that you are in Italy when you get there.
They are so simple and adorable. And there is a kind of an inn where we can stay. They call it the 'Hosteria.' Oh, you will love it, I know.”
The picnic was to begin in the morning. Miss Helen, prepared for an all day trip, was properly surprised when Billie turned the Comet into a little mountain road running between grapevines now heavy with fruit.
Men and women were gathering the grapes in baskets, singing while they worked.
At the top of the mountain was the tiniest little village imaginable, all stucco houses on a dusty street with a church at one end. Next to the church was the inn and standing at the door of the inn was the landlord and owner of the vineyard, Pasquale.
”Buon giorno, Signorina,” he cried. ”I giva you the gooda welcome. I have receive the letter of the Signorina. All isa prepared.”
Across the entrance of the hosteria ran a legend printed in red letters on a white background:
”MAN RETUNS TO HAPNES THIS DAY-AUGUS.
TWENTY-SEC. SIGNORA ELEANORA CAMEL.”
Miss Campbell read the inscription over twice before she could make out its meaning.
”Absurd children,” she cried delightedly, ”you are giving me a birthday party. I knew you were suppressing something with all your giggling this morning. And here I had quite forgotten I was a year older to-day.”
”Not a year older, dearest cousin, a year younger,” cried Billie. ”It was Evelyn who knew about this fascinating little place, and we thought we would entertain you here instead of at one of those tiresome hotels.”
Pasquale rubbed his hands together and smiled broadly with his head on one side.
”La Signora, she isa surprisa,” he exclaimed, as pleased as a child.
He led the way to the back of the house, through a low-ceilinged room paved with red tiles. At a small door at the end of the pa.s.sage he paused and placed his fingers on his lips with an expression so arch and crafty that the girls laughed out loud in spite of his motions for silence. Then he flung open the door grandly and placed his hand on his heart, heaving a deep and dramatic sigh.