“Which way are they moving, dumbbell?”
“Toward the southeast—great snakes, that’s the way we’re flying, isn’t it! I thought we were bucking a stiff wind.”
“We are—but there’s another strata of air up yonder, and the current is blowing those clouds in the direction we want to go. If Fanely’s pilot had the sense of a louse he’d stick that wind on his tail as we will do, instead of bucking half a gale down here.”
“Thank you,” said the Chief. “Compliments are flying like airplanes this morning.”
“Don’t mention it, old top. I don’t think the Fokker is coming down yet awhile, though.”
“That’s good news. How do you figure it?”
“She’s over the Sound now, and heading for the Atlantic via Long Island.”
“That’s queer—they can’t be running off to Europe!”
“Not a chance—unless they’ve got extra fuel tanks aboard, and brimful at that.”
“What do you think the old bird’s up to?”