any more'n I know ridin' on a horse!"

"Aw, say! That's goin' too far," protested Johnny, but Bland gave him
no heed.

"You learn the stunts--early in the morning when there ain't the hull
town out to rubber--and then pull off an exhibition or two.
Seventy-five dollars is the least you ever need to expect. Don't go in
the air for less. From that up--depends on how spectacular you are.
The public loves to watch for the death fall. That's what they pay to
see--not hopin' you get killed, but not wantin' to miss seeing it in
case yuh do. And with this the only airplane around here--why, say,
bo, it's a cinch!"

Johnny fanned the smoke away from his face and eyed Bland with lofty
tolerance. "And where do you expect to come in? You needn't kid
yourself into hoping I'll take you for a self-forgetful martyr person.
What's the little joker, Bland?"

Bland turned his pale, opaque stare upon Johnny for a minute. "Aw, for
cat's sake, gimme the doubt, bo! I'm human in more ways than tryin' to
see how much booze I kin lap up. It's a chance I want to start fresh.
This bumming around ain't getting me anything. I'm sick of it. You
gotta be learnt to do exhibition stuff, and I'm the guy that can learn
yuh. You'll want a mechanician to keep your motor in shape. I can
_make_ a motor, gimme the tools. You want somebody that knows the game
to kinda manage things. You're Skyrider Johnny, same as the boys at
the ranch calls yuh. Yon gotta have a flunkey, ain't yuh? I'm willin'
to be it. I'll change my name, so nobody needs to know it's Bland
Halliday. Or you can gimme a share in the net profits, and I'll keep