A great revulsion seized him, an overwhelming desire to master a situation that had so far mastered him.
What were six days--five days now?
Why, already one day had gone, and the Thunder Bird was still in town.
Johnny let go the bars and returned to his cot.

The brief spasm of hope had passed.

What good would it do him if Bland carried passengers from morning until night, every day of the six?
Bland couldn't save a cent.

The more he made, the more he would spend.

He would simply go on a spree and perhaps wreck the plane before Johnny was free to hold him in check.
Once more the motor's thrumming pulled him to the window.