“Not until we hang over Lakehurst; and not then, if it’s a flop.”
“Come and get a sody while we wait,” suggested Red. “You are nervous.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” demanded David.
The passengers commenced to wander back; the crew gathered, and went to their places; the usual dense crowd blackened the landing field. Dulcie, still tired, had the peaceful sensation of returning home. Her father, for the first time since the ship started from Lakehurst, showed a strain. It hurt him to lose the distinction of making a record, but he had definitely given up the hope of doing so. David’s seeming unconcern hurt him a little, but he supposed David was too young to take such things much to heart.
The ship took off without accident, the ground crew working with the smooth accuracy of a machine. It was eleven twenty-five of Friday, July second. They started eastward through the crystalline, clean air of California—air which always carries its own celestial aroma; a perfume, vague and delicate, made of millions of flowers, seas of fruit, leagues of pines, all washed with the faint breath of the sea.
“In point of fact,” said Doctor Sims, judicially, “the enthusiasm of the Californian seems perfectly justifiable. I was rather annoyed at first by what I thought was the bombastic attitude of our barker. But the young man, while enthusiastic, was really quite moderate in his statements.”
“Decidedly,” agreed Doctor Trigg. “I was recently offered a chair at Leland Stanford University. I hesitated to accept it, but I believe it would be a fine place for an old man to finish his career.”
“Gr-r-r-r-r-uh!” said Doctor Sims in his worst growl. “Wild goose chase, I’d call it! Perfect nonsense! At your age, crazy! New climate, new type of students. How do you know how it would affect your lumbago? Silly, plain silly!”
“Possibly! Possibly!” Doctor Trigg agreed.
Dulcie was looking out of the window. “Aren’t we going rather fast?” she queried, as a couple of the reporters came up.