"Not I," said that hatchet-faced young man; and into his sleek and restless features came a glimmer of shrewdness—the sly thrift that lurks in the faces of those who bargain much and wisely in petty wares. It must have been a momentary ancestral gleam from his rum-smuggling ancestors, for Langly Sprowl had never dealt in little things.
Chrysos Lacy was saying: "It's adorable to see you again, Ricky. What is this we hear about you and Lord Dankmere setting up shop?"
"It's true," he laughed. "Come in and buy an old master, Chrysos, at bargain prices."
"I shall insist on Jim buying several," said Molly.
Her husband laughed derisively:
"When I can buy a perfectly good Wright biplane for the same money? Come to earth, Molly!"
"You'll come to earth if you go sky-skating around the clouds in that horrid little Stinger, Jim," she said. "Why couldn't you take out the Stinger for a little exercise?"—turning to Sprowl.
"I'm going to," said Sprowl in his full penetrating voice, not conscious that it required courage to risk a flight with the Stinger. Nobody had ever imputed any lack of that sort of courage to Langly Sprowl. He simply did not understand bodily fear.
Strelsa glanced up at him from the piano:
"It's rather risky, isn't it?"