Doyle, somewhat stunned by the events which had transpired, had little to say.
“Are you sorry we waited?” Flash asked him. “These pictures should stack up any day with a polo match.”
“You’re a fool for luck, just as Joe said,” Doyle muttered. “I suppose you knew just what would happen?”
“I only hoped for a good bridge picture. But when Lady Luck showers down I believe in spreading a wide net.”
Flash was shivering from cold. Wrapping himself in his overcoat, he allowed Doyle to do most of the loading work.
Back in town once more, he sought a clothing store and quickly purchased a new suit. While it was cheaply tailored, he thought it would serve until he reached Excelsior City.
“You look like a country rube in that outfit,” Doyle jeered as his companion climbed back into the sound truck.
“Can’t help it,” Flash replied, undisturbed. “It’s warm and clean, at least.”
The cameramen followed Highway 23, avoiding the river. At the first city of any size which boasted an airport, they paused long enough to ship their cans of film to the home office. Then they drove on at break-neck speed for Excelsior City.
Doyle squinted at a clock in a store window as they went through a town.