And right now, he realized, he needed a job more than he had ever needed one before. Unless Lyle put up an overwhelming defense, she was going to marry him. But she wasn’t going to marry him while he was still a crasher. He’d see to that and so—he grinned rather ruefully to himself—would she.
“I understand how you’re placed, Walt,” he said to the boss of the circus and contrived to smile as he said it. “No hard feelings about my quitting suddenly, I hope?”
Walt Tennant laughed. “I always figured you’d quit sudden—one way or another,” he said. “If I can’t keep you, I can’t. And anyhow, a young fellow that sort of fancies the way he throws a ship around has been plaguing me for a job.”
King Horn flushed at that last sentence. He did not notice that Tennant was surveying him keenly from under his thick, black eyebrows.
“It’s easy to fill a fool’s job, I guess,” King said slowly. “They’re sort of plentiful. Well, see you later, Walt.”
“So long,” Tennant replied. “Any time you change your mind, King⸺ There’s nobody that can throw thrills and chills into a crowd like you.”
King Horn took another turn about the edge of the field, just to make sure that Lyle had really gone. While he searched he came upon Franklin Cross glumly punching holes in the ground with his stick.
“Frank,” King Horn greeted him grasping him by the arm, “please forget about this last crash of mine, will you? And get those other reporters to drop it, too, if you can. I’m through being a fool.”
Cross looked up. The aviation editor’s thin face was full of lines—lines that made it rather harsh and old.
“What made you decide that?” he asked.