“Where is it, the gas, I mean?” the stranger inquired politely.
“In that barn, or whatever it is,” Jim answered.
“And your plane?”
“About a mile up the road. We came down back of the town on a sort of farm where we are spending the night.”
“I have a small car, I’ll fetch it up to you in about an hour, if that will be time enough. I am driving that way,” he offered.
“Thank you very much. I’ll appreciate it no end,” Jim said heartily and wondered why he had thought the man unpleasant.
“It will be no trouble at all. I’m glad to help you out.” The chap strode off as if determined not to listen to more thanks, and Jim shook his head.
“I certainly should like to know more about this place. I must have hit it at an odd time, for they are a queer bunch.” He went back to the barn, managed to get the doorman to settle the account, and chuckled when the attendant seemed to think that tomorrow would do nicely for the final transaction of the business. Darkness was settling slowly and gently over the land, and Austin started for the camp. He noticed that there wasn’t a sign of a star and his trained weather sense warned him that rain was in the air. By the time he reached the point where he had to turn across the field, or whatever it was, it was quite dark, but he saw his Flying Buddy’s flash illuminating the shed, and his father’s cigar as the man hurried to meet him.
“You were gone quite a while, my boy.”
“I guess it takes quite a while to get anything done in Montego, Dad,” he laughed, and recounted his experiences to the amusement of his audience.