“By skipping lunch we still might get there in time for the last chukker of the game,” he announced.
“It won’t do any harm to try,” Flash agreed. “But after the pictures we just took, polo will seem pretty tame.”
“It’s our assignment,” Doyle said sharply. “Don’t forget that.”
“I’ve not forgotten.”
Flash glanced sideways at his companion. He could not believe that Doyle honestly thought they had made a mistake in passing up a polo game for the flood pictures. Obviously, the technician had a special reason for wishing to reach Excelsior City.
“And that reason,” he reflected, “has nothing to do with our work. If I’m any good at guessing, he’s bent on wangling an invitation to Rascomb’s lodge!”
CHAPTER XIII
A POLO GAME
The News-Vue sound truck pulled into the private grounds of the Excelsior Polo Club at exactly ten minutes to three. Through the elm trees George Doyle caught sight of the field, and gave a chuckle of pleasure.
“The match is still on!”
The seventh chukker was underway as the truck drew up at the sidelines. Flash and Doyle worked swiftly, knowing they had little time.