Just as he entered Dave’s puzzled glance fell upon several pairs of boots standing in a row near the door. He gasped when he realized that they were high, lace affairs, of a distinctly feminine pattern that were in fashion on Broadway the last time he had seen that famous thoroughfare.
And here, right in front of him, stood Dalzell, earning every letter in his nick-name of Danny Grin.
“I didn’t know that you had ladies aboard, Danny,” Dave remarked, halting and gazing at the shoes.
“Who said we had?”
“But those—” began Darrin, pointing at the footgear that had aroused his wonder.
“Newest thing in service shoes,” laughed Dalzell.
“Have your own way about it,” Dave chuckled.
“It’s a fact, just the same,” Dan retorted. “And say! Are you thoroughly discreet? Can you keep a Service secret?”
“I can hand you a wallop in about a half a second,” Dave Darrin retorted.
“I am answered,” Dan replied, gravely. “Follow me.”