“Yeah. Not a bad one either. We’re to cover an International polo match at Excelsior City. We ought to be there not later than twelve-thirty.”
Flash looked at his watch and whistled.
“It’s nearly six now. Excelsior City must be at least three hundred miles from here.”
“Nearer three twenty. It means fast stepping.”
Quickly they dressed and crammed their clothing into suitcases. There was no time for breakfast. A clock on the street chimed six-thirty as they pulled out of the drowsing city.
A fog hung low over the valley. Before the sound truck had covered many miles a fine, steady rain began to fall.
Strangely, Doyle offered no complaint about either the weather or the early morning call to duty. Flash stole a curious glance at him. The technician’s face was animated and he whistled a cheerful tune.
“This assignment seems to please you, Doyle.”
“It could be a lot worse.”
“What teams are playing? You haven’t told me anything about the set-up.”