“Because I am your daughter,” she replied proudly. “You wouldn’t want me to stand back, now, would you?”

“No, Mary, I wouldn’t. You’ve made it safely this far. Here’s wishing you luck and safety to the journey’s end.”

“The journey’s end,” she thought. “If he but knew how close we came to that end this very day.”

“Mary,” her father was saying, “I want you to meet the finest American flier in Egypt, Captain Burt Ramsey. Captain Ramsey, this is my daughter.”

“Charmed to meet her, sir,” was the quick response.

“I am pleased to meet you.” She gave the young man her best smile. And why not? He stood six-feet-three and looked every inch the soldier—dark hair, brown eyes, and that far-away look that fliers, especially over the desert, acquire.

“I am surprised at that introduction, Colonel Mason.” The Captain grinned broadly. “From all you’ve been telling me, this young lady must be the best flier in Egypt.”

“Oh, that’s purely a family matter, paternal pride,” said the Colonel.

“Captain Ramsey, This Is My Daughter, Mary.”

“Mary,” he said, “you must be starved, dead for sleep, and—”

“And visibly shaken,” she added. “Yes, all of that and more. You’d never believe it, but we did away with two desert rats on this trip.”

“That’s right,” Sparky, who had just come up, agreed. “One yellow rat and one that was a doubtful white.”

“Tell us,” Ramsey demanded.

“Not now,” Mary pleaded. “Perhaps not ever.”

“I just wanted to say,” Sparky broke in, “that we’ll be here until three tomorrow morning. Our next hop is a long one and that burned engine needs a going over.”

“Oh! Hours of rest!” Mary nearly collapsed in her father’s arms. “You’ll never know what that means.”

“I’ll leave you now,” Burt Ramsey saluted. “Shall I see you at Waltz Time tonight?”

“Waltz Time on the radio?” Mary stared.

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