“Taking a short cut, kid. This course will lop off a good hundred and fifty miles from the route via Portland and up the coast.”
“I suppose it was the sea fog that made you figure on the other way when we hopped off?”
Bill laughed, goodnaturedly. “You show almost human intelligence this morning, Charles. You’ll be telling me next that the sun is shining and the prop is turning round!”
Charlie snorted. “Aw, cut it out, Bill. Tell me, is there anything I can eat on board this crate?”
“Not unless you start on a strut. The French have a saying that ‘Who sleeps, dines.’ If that is so you ought to be filled to the brim.”
“Huh!” was Charlie’s sole comment. Then he asked: “What are those islands ahead to port?”
“Matinicus Island and Matinicus Rock.”
“How much farther is it to the Heads?”
“About a hundred miles. Our airspeed is 135 M.P.H., and we’re running before a twenty-knot wind. Figure it out for yourself.”
“D’you want the answer in acres?”