It was almost ludicrous to Jack to learn with what abiding faith those two who loved Buddy so well had lost no time in starting the lone expedition on its way; just as though they fully expected Suzanne, now a full-fledged pilot, and feeling able to conquer the world, could be attracted to the very spot where Buddy lay helpless, by the spark of true love—to them it must be like the magnetic needle, always pointing so faithfully straight at the North Pole, and the star that hung over it.
“Bless her heart”—Jack was telling himself later on, as he listened to her talking so cheerfully, while busying herself in cooking the supper, with Perk attending to the fire, and offering to help in “any old way.” “She wouldn’t have had a tinker’s chance to do anything in this wild rocky country—only have her own crate crash, and double the tragedy. So it’s lucky for them both we made this same queer contact tonight.”
Jack was certainly vastly amused to watch how his cranky chum seemed to be acting. Usually Perk would have little or nothing to do with the other sex—Jack strongly suspected that at some time in his misty past Perk might have been “turned down” by some girl in whom he was becoming interested, and so allowed his whole life to be soured by the experience.
But then this was different, and perhaps the affection he had once felt for Buddy Warner made him feel warmly toward a girl who adored the same chubby young flyer and who had forgotten her weakness as a newly fledged pilot, and struck out so boldly in hopes of finding the one who was lost.
The supper was voted a great success, especially by Perk, who drank innumerable cups of hot coffee, which he pronounced “nectar for the gods,” growing a bit poetical in his exalted state of happiness. Suzanne, too, proved herself to be a wonderful cook, and Perk found himself quite envying Buddy—that is, if he was ever really found, and alive in the bargain—in having such a good helpmate and life partner to prepare wonderful meals for him every day in the year.
Afterwards he and Jack set about the job of dragging the single-seater Stinson-Detroiter something like forty feet back from the edge of the river, where it could stay until later on, when Suzanne might find a chance to visit the scene again, or send mechanics to dismantle her ship, and pack the parts back to the factory for reassembling.
She even wrote something on a sheet of paper, which latter was attached to the wreck, and would doubtless serve to keep any curious tourists from damaging her property. So, too, she made up a small package of certain articles which she wished particularly to save, or would be apt to need for her personal comfort which, she assumed, might be taken with them on the coming voyage.
“In the morning,” said Jack, after all these things had been attended to, “I’m meaning to ask you to let us transfer what gas you have aboard your bus to our own tank—it will be wasted here, while in our hands it may save us from spending many valuable hours running off to replenish our wasted supply. Of course I shall see that you are eventually reimbursed, Miss Cramer. Even as little as fifty gallons would mean we could stick to our job so much longer, and then too it might be the means of bringing us success.”
“And if I had a million gallons every drop would be gladly devoted to the sacred task you have so loyally undertaken,” she told him, with a suspicious glow in her eyes, which Jack imagined might be caused by bravely repressed tears. “I think it is just wonderfully fine the way you two—and all those other brave men—have been so willing to spend their time, hour after hour, scouring the whole country in hopes of finding—my Buddy.”
So Jack had to tell her how the entire world of flyers were like a company of blood brothers; an injury to one being resented by the entire calling—that their universal braving of the elements, and meeting similar perils in their daily work, made a bond like no other on earth, a kinship of like interests.