“For a moment I thought I was going to lose a few cash customers, King,” he added.
“For a moment I thought you were going to lose a damn good pilot, Mr. Tennant,” said Franklin Cross sharply. He seemed thinner, more insignificant than ever as he turned his white, wrathful face on the tall boss of the circus.
“Losing a pilot is all in the game, Frank,” King Horn interposed, flashing his quick smile upon his ruffled friend. “Nobody’d kick about one less—the sky is crawling with ’em.”
King handed over the fire extinguisher to a mechanic.
“She isn’t apt to flame up now,” he told the man. Nodding to the others, he added: “I’ll be moving up to the shack to get Miss Lyle to put some soothing sirup on this scratch.”
“I’ll go with you,” Franklin Cross declared.
King Horn laughed quietly as they walked together through the crowd on the edge of the field. He was paying no attention to the stares and sporadic cheering that greeted him.
“Thought you had to get to the office to write my obit?” he prodded Cross.
The aviation editor of the Era turned very red. He struck out vigorously with his stick at a dandelion.
“That will wait now,” he said. “I guess you’re good for the day, since you’ve come through a crash.”