No answer.
"Tim!" White was more insistent.
A gentle rap on the door.
"Tim, are you awake?"
After a moment of silence, Jack White got to his feet and tiptoed out.
Avery was on the other side of the door.
"He's asleep, El," White informed him, "Very sick—heart. Doc Keighley was here and says he'll be in bed at least till turnover. He told me that you were to take command—Tim Daneshaw, that is."
The two men moved away from the closed door. Elbert Avery turned to face White. "What's that about command?" he asked sharply.
"He wants you to take over. Thinks you're the best man for it. Likes the way you handled the passengers and crew over the gyro business."
"Fine job I'd make of awarding bridge prizes and settling arguments between second and third cooks on how much salt in the buns." Avery sounded gruff but pleased.