“I’ll bring you a dinner on a tray, buy tray, dishes, and all. When we get going you can eat the food and throw the dishes into the sea.”

“We’ll be taking off in just a couple of hours, if I can get our papers all cleared up, so don’t admire the scenery too long.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

Even at this strange corner of the world the war was much in evidence. Soldiers were all over the field. Army planes from many lands came and went. At the gate stood two guards. A smile and her uniform were all the passes she needed.

Not so the youth in tattered clothes who stood outside the gate, gazing in at Mary’s big plane.

“That’s some plane you’ve got.” He tipped his seedy hat.

“You’re an American, too.” She smiled.

“Yes—I—guess so. At least I used to be.” He did not smile. “Now, well, I guess you’d say I’m sort of a tropical tramp. Been down here for five years.”

“But,” his voice rose, “Boy! That plane of yours. Must be the best there is!”

“Ever do any flying?” she asked. She should be going on but this boy interested her.

“Sure—I’ve flown quite a bit, here and in U.S.A., too.”

“Why don’t you join up?”

“Your outfit?” He grinned broadly. “You’re a girl.”

“Oh, but there are a lot more men than women flying for the Ferry Command.”

“But then,” her voice dropped, “they probably wouldn’t take you.”

“Why?” His shoulders squared.

“That’s just it,” was the quick reply. “You’re too fit. They’d want you for combat duty. You can’t make our outfit unless you’re too old for combat or there’s something a little wrong with you. Sparky, my fellow-pilot, has a hole in his eardrum. Combat wouldn’t take him, but Ferry did.”

“But say!” She gave him a good, square look. “Why don’t you ship back to U.S.A. and get into a uniform? Afraid to go back?”

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