“How about our next assignment?” asked Doyle.
“I was coming to that. No news of special importance is breaking in this section of the country right now. Your instructions are to start East again. Stop off at Melveredge Field and try to get shots of the new bombing plane which is being tested there.”
“Try is right,” grumbled Doyle. “That place is so surrounded by barbed-wire red tape a newsreel man couldn’t cut his way through in a month. How about permits?”
“News-Vue will endeavor to make the necessary arrangements. Even if you can’t obtain pictures of the bomber, you should be able to get routine maneuvers. Do the best you can. Further orders will be forwarded to you at the Clarinda Hotel.”
Mr. Clewes shook hands with both Flash and Doyle, and hastened to his taxi. In silence, the two newsreel men went to their room. They began to pack.
“This is a poor assignment,” Doyle complained, jamming shirts into his bag. “We’ll waste a lot of time at Melveredge Field, fail to get the pictures, and then be reprimanded for our pains.”
“Mr. Clewes must think we have a chance or he wouldn’t send us.”
“Us,” said Doyle with biting sarcasm. “A lot of good you’re going to do me!”
The words were spoken before he thought. Once said, he could not retract them. But instantly he was ashamed of the unwarranted outburst.
“Sorry,” he apologized curtly. “I shouldn’t have said that. But you made me sore, trying to show me up in front of Mr. Clewes.”