As they zoomed along through the blue with the black ocean far below and the stars apparently scattered all about them, she felt very little desire to talk. She just wanted to think. Her mind went back to childhood days. Happy days they had been, those days with her father. School shut out much of this. And then had come college. College vacations found her flying, first with her father, then alone. She had learned about airplane engines from the ground up and had even become an expert with a machine gun. “That,” she told herself, “was Providence, a dress rehearsal for war.” As if he had been reading her thoughts, Sparky said, “Mary, there were a dozen or more who volunteered for this job you’re doing now. I wouldn’t want you to think I don’t like your work. I do. You’re swell, but how come they picked on you? You’re about the youngest of the lot.” “That’s right,” Mary agreed, “but I’ve had more hours of solo flight than any of them. Fifteen hundred, to be exact.” “Fifteen hundred?” Sparky whistled. “Practically flew from your cradle!” “Nope—started when I was sixteen. You see, Dad is as much at home in the air as on the ground.” “And you take after him?” “Sure. Why not? What’s more, I know a lot about airplane engines and machine guns.” “Handy man with tools, eh?” Sparky drawled. “Try me.” Mary did not laugh. “Who knows? This job of ours may call for all the tricks we know before it’s done.” “Guess that’s right,” Sparky agreed. “And I sure am glad you’re on the job.” After that they once more lapsed into silence. The miles and the stars flew by. There were times when Mary was plagued by the illusion that somehow their ship had stopped traveling, that they were there, suspended in space, their motors roaring, but taking them nowhere. At such times she felt an all but over-powering desire to scream, for her overwrought imagination was telling her that the motors would roar on until the fuel was gone, then they would crash into the sea. At times she felt drowsy, at others she was so wide
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