“Around twenty-four hours, possibly less, buddy,” Jack explained. “We’ve an appointment, made for us from Headquarters in Washington, to meet up with a certain official connected with the Secret Service, who holds forth in Atlanta—from him we’ll receive a certain amount of information, and be referred to another party, high in the secrets of the Service in Charleston. When we jump off from that South Carolina city we’ll know all we’re expected to carry out—what we’ve been called east to accomplish. There, that’s everything in a nutshell; I’m as much in the dark as you, even though I reckon I’ve figured things out, if a bit hazily, to tell the truth.”
“We’re goin’ after some sort o’ big game, I er-reckon, partner?” Perk speculated, his manner making the remark seem like a question.
“No doubt about that, boy—they wouldn’t have called for us to fly all the way from San Diego, (with two necessary stops to prevent spies from learning as to who we are, and why we’re heading east) if it hadn’t been that some others in the Secret Service had played their innings—and fallen asleep at the switch.”
“Hot-diggetty-dig! I’d say that’d be a neat compliment they’re givin’ us, ole hoss,” Perk exulted; as enthusiastic as a boy over a Christmas present of a brand new shiny pair of club skates. “Another thing I’d like to hear tell ’baout, Ja—er, Mr. Warrin’ton, suh.”
“As what, partner—you’ll notice that I’m trying to call you all sorts of chummy names—that’s for the purpose of trying to forget I ever knew you as Perk, or Gabe Perkiser. If you do the same there’ll be less chance of giving our game away; for if any kind of quick-witted spies should hear us exchanging words they’d remember the real names of the two sky detectives who were playing particular hob with gents who gave Uncle Sammy the laugh. Now, I reckon you’re referring to that letter I had just before we lifted out ship at San Diego last night.”
“Yeou said it, er-ole pal,” replied Perk, catching his treacherous tongue just in the nick of time. “I kinder—reckoned it mout acome from the gent over in San Diego, who’s been aour boss since we started operations ’long the Coast.”
“A fair enough guess, brother,” Jack told him; “because that’s the official who gave us the order to break away, and what to do on the skyway east. There was also some interesting information concerning the job we finished up some weeks back; and I meant to hand that over to you; but somehow failed to connect.”
“I’m right tickled to hear that, suh—fack is I’d begun to feel they wasn’t zactly treatin’ us white, not sayin’ as haow we’d done the Service proud, the way we fetched Slim Garrabrant back after he’d broke loose from the pen, an’ started his ole tricks again.”[[1]]
“Oh! they were quite enthusiastic about the success of our work, after others had fallen down on the job—that is, as warm as those cold people at Headquarters ever do get, it being against their principles to over praise those working under them, for fear of giving the poor guys the big-head. You can read the letter before I destroy it, brother. The Big Boss in L. A. also wrote that Slippery Slim had been safely returned to his former cell in Leavenworth, and with an added sentence; so, as they’ll watch him closer from now on, there’s small chance of our ever running up against him after this.”
“Well, he was a good guy when it came to tacklin’ big games, I’ll tell the whole world,” observed the satisfied Perk; who again busied himself with his reliable binoculars, eagerly surveying the checkered landscape a mile or more under the bottom of their fuselage; and which continued to prove of considerable interest to Perk, this being actually the first time he had ever passed over that section of the Southland, despite his absurd claim to having spent his boyhood days in Birmingham, Ala.