Still arguing, they went down to the passenger gondola. Bellefontaine was below them, and it was half-past four.
By eight-thirty Sunday morning they were over New York City. The ship was all excitement. The passengers looked down with awe at the majestic city, at its soaring towers and deep canyons, at its embracing rivers running to the sea, where the ships of all the world come laden to the wharves. The sun blazed on gilded domes and delicate spires, Liberty lifted her steadfast torch, and the Moonbeam turned her proud form toward Lakehurst.
In the control room the operator met Red with a radiogram.
“From the Padre, I suppose. Do you know, he never answered that telegram I sent him from Los Angeles?” Red commented, opening the message. He read the words over and over, as though disbelieving his eyes.
“Well,” he said at last, “the thing that just couldn’t happen has happened. Read it!”
David took the paper. It read:
“Insist on seeing you at Lakehurst stop most important stop grandfather’s farm has let loose with two gushers best grade oil stop worth millions.”
“Why, that’s immense!” cried David.
“Yes, it’s the grand news,” said Red. “That farm! It wouldn’t grow anything but tarantulas and scorpions and prairie dogs. Two gushers! Now mother, God bless her, can have all her heart desires, and the Padre can build himself a whole row of hospitals for his poor. Ain’t it grand, David? I’m askin’ you!”
“It’s the finest thing I ever heard. But what will you do?”