Rankin’s heart jumped and he felt his color rising; and since it is not seemly for an aviator to display emotion he saluted hastily and turned to go. The deliberate voice stopped him.
“Better put in a claim for that machine. Since she’s been in active service I guess the navy’ll take her over.”
“Thank you, sir.” Again Rankin turned with his hand on the door-knob lest his face should betray the double exultation in his soul.
Once again that exasperating recall.
“Oh, by the way; there was another wireless; private, for you; a most insistent person.”
Rankin wheeled in a flash. There is a limit to emotional suppression. His commanding officer was holding out a long envelope to him. Rankin took it with a haste which amounted almost to a rudeness and tore it open with fingers that trembled unmanfully. The first thing he looked for was the signature—Eileen! It loomed as big as a theater advertisement.
“Bully for both of you,” it read. “I know you’ll succeed.”
Rankin waved it wildly over his head and whooped like a hysterical Indian. It was a shameful display of emotion for an aviator, and a most improper action for an ensign in his commander’s private cabin. But Lieutenant Commander Evans only smiled.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the December 29, 1917 issue of The Argosy magazine.