“Why didn’t you bring your daughter along, commander?” asked Captain Fraine. “The Graf Zeppelin had a woman passenger.”
“I know, I know! I suppose I am just fussy over the kid. I wanted her where I knew she would be safe. She’s going to the seashore. Hope she won’t swim out too far.”
“Does she drive her own car?” asked Fraine, hiding a grin.
“Lord, yes, drives like the very devil.” He turned his back, and looked down. The crowds were far away. “Buck up, buck up, you old fool!” he told himself savagely. “She’s all right—but I’ll bring her along next time.”
The sunlight was glorious; glittering and flashing, the ship circled above Ayre, returned to her own field, and dipped low in a graceful gesture of farewell, while the waiting crowds went mad. Rising, she sped eastward toward Lakehurst, her first stop. Under her flowed the lovely panorama of Ohio; gently rolling woodland, wide and opulent farms with dark patches of plowed lands and the lush green of springing crops. Towns appeared here and there, little huddles of houses at crossroads, and large cities, where the smoke of manufactories spiraled lazily upwards, as though pointing indolently at the passing ship.
David went into the chart room, and found Red poring over the passenger list.
“I see we’ve got a medico with us,” he said.
“Yes, Dr. Forsythe; of course the Company would send their own doctor.”
“Here’s a big guy in his line,” said David. “Sanford Hamilton, of New York, and a dozen other places. Has so much money he can’t count it, but just can’t stop making more. Has the habit.”
“Wish I could get a habit like that. Well, the Ryans own the two most worthless farms on God’s green earth, and I never can get over expectin’ to see a fine squirt of oil come leapin’ out of them, although the experts say they are as dry as dust. Who’s next on the list?”