“Haow ’bout the weather reports, buddy?” asked Perk, later on, suppressing a big yawn, as though time was hanging somewhat heavily on his hands, being, as he always proudly declared, “a man of action.”
“Just about the same as a while ago—no change in the predictions having come about,” he told the other.
“Like to be no storm agoin’ to slap us in the teeth, then, eh, what?”
“I don’t see where it could come from, it being clear in almost every direction, saving possible rain in South Florida; so don’t let that bother you in the least, old scout.”
“An’ fog—haow ’bout that same, suh? I opines as haow I sorter detest fog more’n anything I know—’cept mebbe stones in my cherry pie.”
“No record of any fog over the air-route east,” Jack informed him; “and you know we mean to follow the flash beacons all the way to Greenville, South Carolina, where they turn off in the direction of Richmond, while we shift more to the southeast by south, and head for Charleston. It looks as though we’d have a nice, even flight all the way, and land in our port early tomorrow morning—without trying to make any great speed in the bargain.”
Time passed, and it drew near the hour they had selected for their leaving the hotel. Perk was a bit eager to be going, and began to pack his bag as a gentle hint to his running mate.
“Finish mine while about it, partner,” he was told by his comrade; “while I’m down below settling our joint account, and securing a taxi. I’ll be back in a short while; and then for business.”
“Yeah! that strikes me where I live, buddy. Take yeour time, an’ doant come back atellin’ me that pesky Jimmy’s squatted in the hotel lobby, alookin’ over everybody as goes aout, er comes in.”
Jack was gone as much as ten minutes, and then opened the door quietly, to have the other snatch a quick inquiring look at his face and say: