Jack laughed. “Come on, Dad,” he urged, “put your writing away and come on out to the hanger. We’ll have to go over the old bus an’ get her in tip-top shape for the trip.”
Pretending reluctance, yet reluctance belied by the eager twinkle in his eyes, Mr. Hampton complied. And together they headed for the hanger, where each donned voluminous coveralls and went about the work of greasing and oiling, and the tightening of struts and stays.
As they worked away, each busied upon a different part of the plane from the other, each intent upon his own thoughts, there was little opportunity for conversation. But as his fingers flew about the tasks which he performed almost mechanically, Jack’s thoughts were flying, too.
He started in by thinking of Bob and Frank. They had been separated more than six months, the longest period of separation for years. Communication between the two at Yale and Jack in the Southwest had been steady and continuous. Yet, after all, what good were letters? Six or seven months made a good many changes in a fellow. What were they thinking about, how were they dressing now, had Bob fully recovered from the broken collarbone incurred in the game against Harvard last Fall, was Frank putting himself in trim for the Summer tennis season in which he stood an excellent chance to rank high among the national leaders? All these and many more questions of like nature ran through Jack’s thoughts.
And then, unconsciously, his thoughts drifted away from his companions to Rafaela. Why hadn’t he been able to obtain a response to his call that morning? Had affairs down there taken a new turn? If so, what? And then, suddenly, apparently without his having previously considered the matter, the mysterious disappearance of Ramon popped into Jack’s mind. He gave a final turn to a loose nut and, wrench in hand, stood up and called to his father.
“What is it, Jack?” Mr. Hampton was crouched down, examining the lock nut on one of the wheels, and did not look up.
Jack walked around to the front of the plane and leaned against the fuselage, tossing up and catching his wrench.
“I say, Dad. Just thought of something.”
“What?”
“About Ramon.”