Page 39 - 1923 Hartridge

As I was flying along in the airplane to-day, niy engine suddenly went dead and I found myself slipping through space, hortunately I was high enough to keep from dashing headlong to the earth. Concluding that I must be out of gas 1 wriggled around and managed to turn over the reserve. Just as 1 was starting off again a girl in an awfully sporty little blue Stutz flew up, evidently with belated, although well-intended help: so I nodded pleasantly. Then 1 began to wonder what was so familiar about her face; but by that time 1was too far away to recognize her. So swerving around on one wing in my most reckless fashion 1 set off in pursuit. The Stutz was flying at a pretty good rate but when the driver heard me coming back,
she slowed up and waited for me to overtake her. 1here was a New Jersey license plate swinging from the tail light. New Jersey------! Oh, yes! 1 remembered then that 1 once went to boarding school there. The
owner of the plane Avas a nice-looking, well-dressed girl who was so familiar. Suddenly it dawned upon me. She was one of my classmates at Hartridge, the school in New Jersey. Laura Warfield was her name.
Laura recognized me, so we both shut off our motors and glided for a few
minutes to talk.
“Let’s go somewhere where we can renetv our old acquaintance,”
\[.aura called after the preliminary greetings Avere over.
“ There’s a good picture at the Palace in Waterloo, loAva. We might
try that if you haA’e time,” I ansAvered, quickly calculating how much gas
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