“Can’t bear—well, what were you doing the other night when I came in to the salon, and found you at that corner table, holding his hand, and Cram smirking and blinking at you like a hound pup?”
Dulcie giggled. “I was reading his palm. I told him he would have a very distinguished career, and would probably fill some high public office. I said I thought he would be an ambassador.”
“Ambassador, my eye!” he growled. “What do you do it for, anyway, Dulcie, smearing it on like that?”
“They expect it. If you don’t kid ’em along they don’t know how to talk at all.”
“Well, we will hope for the best,” said Mr. Hammond, and added, as he left her, “Go vamp Doctor Sims. If you can get one real compliment out of him before we reach Ayre, I’ll buy you a new roadster.”
“Darling!” cried Dulcie, making a dash for her parent. But he shut the door hastily, and was gone.
Mr. Hammond went to the chart room, studied the maps, then joined David in the control room.
“Well, it won’t be long now, before we are over Japan,” he remarked. “We will probably spend two days there at the airport, for a good overhauling.”
“There are some recent radiograms in that clip, commander. I see that they are planning a regular blow-out for us.”
Mr. Hammond commenced looking over the pile of radiograms which David had indicated.