“He told me the firm has to let some of its pilots go, and I am one of them.” Phil stopped short, caught her arm and swung her around so that she faced him.
“What the heck are you talking about?” he demanded.
“I just lost my job and I guess I am making an awful boob of myself.” She forced her lips into a good imitation of a smile.
“I say, you are full of—quit kidding—”
“I am not kidding, Phil.”
“You mean to say Trowbridge just told you that you can’t work here any more,” he persisted.
“Yes I do,” she answered. “So long, Phil.”
“I say, wait a minute, while I look into this,” he called, but a plane was roaring onto the field and the noise of the motor drowned his voice so the girl did not hear. Her throat choked as she hurried to get away, and after staring at her a few minutes, young Fisher, his forehead puckered in a deep frown, strode toward the office, and met Trowbridge just coming out. “What’s the big idea?” he demanded.
“You mean about Miss Langwell?”
“Of course,” Phil snapped.