“Magazine? A pillow?”
“No. Nothing.” The woman’s black and piercing eyes were fixed upon her for a full ten seconds. Then they shifted to the world beneath the swiftly gliding plane.
Rosemary was neither dismayed nor disheartened. There were many such people. All they wanted was to be left alone with their thoughts. Perhaps flashing through the air thousands of feet from the ground brought serious and solemn thoughts to some types of mind. She rather guessed it did.
But how about the young man of great haste? He intrigued her. Perhaps he was the kind who liked to talk. If he were, then perhaps he would tell secrets. Men often told her secrets. She always guarded them well. “He may tell me why he was in such great haste,” she thought to herself.
Some people like to talk, some to listen. It is the duty of an airplane stewardess to talk or to listen as occasion demands. Rosemary was prepared in this case, as in all others, to do her duty.
“Strange sort of profession, yours,” the young man said, smiling.
“It’s wonderful work!” Rosemary knew on the instant that she would do most of the talking.
For half an hour he asked questions and she answered them. His questions, never very personal, were about the life an airplane stewardess leads. She answered them honestly and frankly. “He honestly wants to know,” she told herself. “He is the type of person who absorbs knowledge as a sponge does water. Delightful sort. I’d like to know him better.”
“But look!” he exclaimed suddenly. “The propeller on this side is gone!”
“Oh, no!” She laughed low. “It’s not gone. Just going around so fast you can’t see it.”