All night the field had been black with people. With fine democracy they slept in their trucks, their flivvers, or their Packards, and at intervals ate hot dogs and sandwiches. Hundreds of soldiers labored to keep the field about the hangar clear for the departure of the outgoing ship. And still they came. The first trolleys were packed with frantic hordes that pushed and jostled to get near the ropes that had been stretched along for hundreds of yards, and through which people continually broke.
At last, as the crews walked the great gleaming shape out onto the field, a deafening cheer broke like a portentous wave. Hoarse voices cried, “Good luck, Moonbeam! Good luck!—’ray! ’ray! ’ray!—Go in and win, Moonbeam! Beat the Zep! Beat the Zep!”
When Mr. Hammond’s car drove up, Dulcie hopped gaily out, her little Pekinese hugged under her arm.
“Isn’t this jam perfectly terrific?” she said to Captain Fraine. “We could scarcely get through.”
“Most of them have been here all night,” said Captain Fraine. “They’re certainly enthusiastic. These troops the Governor sent down have had a lively time keeping them off the field.”
“Any of the passengers here yet?” asked Dulcie.
“Most of them, although it’s early yet. They seem afraid the boat will start without them!”
“I’m going on board,” said Dulcie. “I want to put dad’s bicarbonate where he will see it. He always loses it, poor dear, whenever he gets indigestion.”
“Plenty of time, Miss Hammond,” said Fraine, as he escorted her to the steps leading up to the passenger gondola. “I wish you were going with us.”
“So do I!” sighed Dulcie.