"So am I. No, don't let's bother. We're dry enough, when we take off these leather coats. Let's see what we can get to eat!"
Since it was neither lunch nor supper time, the clerk seemed somewhat doubtful, but the good-natured headwaiter, smiling at their aviation costumes, said he would see to it at once. He put them into a little alcove just off the lobby, behind some big plants, where they would not be stared at, and served them a delicious hot dinner, cooked especially for them.
How good it tasted! It seemed as if nothing had ever been so satisfying. They enjoyed every mouthful. Indeed, the warmth of the atmosphere and the food made them feel so deeply contented that they did not even talk. A radio was playing in the reception room, and the hum of voices in the lobby seemed distant and soothing.
But presently, as they were eating a lovely concoction that was called by a French name, and apparently was a sort of glorified fruit pudding, they heard two voices close to them, near and distinct, yet low. They could not see the speakers, but the voices were somehow familiar, and it was not long before they identified them.
"I think you ought to take that Moth back, Sis," insisted the man's voice. "That club may be wanting to use it."
"Calm yourself," returned the girl, haughtily. "You don't suppose any of those spoiled babies would fly in this kind of weather, do you? Besides, I have important business on!"
"Business?"
"Sure. I'm making money, Bob! Get that under your skin. I've got to have it—and I'm getting it."
"So you can fly over the ocean—after that prize?"
"Certainly."