“Everything seems O.K. There’s been a little trouble with the fuel-flow meter and analyzer, but I think they’ll cure that here.”
“How’s Fred?”
“Fine....”
“Having a good time?” George asked.
“Oh, yes,” AE answered. “It’s been very worth while. We’ll do it again, together, some time.”
“O.K. with me. Anything else?”
“Well, I’ll cable tomorrow an estimate of when we should get to Howland. Good-by.... See you in Oakland.”
Amelia hung up the telephone and walked away slowly. GP was a most considerate and understanding husband, and when their friends had their little jokes about George’s role as the “forgotten husband,” he was always good-humored. After the Atlantic flight, she remembered, her Unknown Husband was decorated. Friends and well-wishers had gathered in her hotel suite in New York. The rooms were crowded with floral bouquets of congratulations.
A woman friend of AE’s went from bouquet to bouquet untying ribbons of various colors, and from them she fashioned a rosette. She walked over to George, who was sitting in one of the easy chairs.
“Stand up, husband!” the woman said. The husband obliged. She fastened the decoration to the lapel of GP’s coat. “For distinguished service in self-effacement beyond the line of marital duty, I hereby bestow upon you the ‘Order of the Forgotten Husband.’”