“We’ve come too far since then. Besides, a plane rising from our ship might catch the eye of some sub commander. That would be just too bad. This is a mighty important convoy.”
Sally drank her coffee in a cloud of gray gloom. There was nothing she could do for Danny, absolutely nothing. But when she came out on the deck, the sun was shining brightly, gulls were sailing high and all seemed at peace. Since there was work to be done she snapped out of her blue mood and stepped into things in the usual manner.
That night, since the weather was still beautiful and no dangers appeared to threaten, the Captain authorized a dance for the fliers, the sailors off duty, the nurses, and the WAVES.
Some of the sailors had organized an orchestra of a sort, two fiddlers, two sax players, and a drummer.
To Sally this seemed to offer an hour of glorious relaxation. She loved dancing and did it very well, too. It seemed, however, that a whole flock of gremlins had joined the ship, just to disturb her peace of mind.
The Captain was on hand to lead off the first dance, and chose her as his partner.
She wanted to say: “Oh, Captain! Please! No!” But she dared not. So they led off the dance. It was a glorious waltz. The boys jazzed it a little. Still it was glorious.
The Old Man was a splendid dancer. She lost herself to the rhythm and swing of the music until, with a startling suddenness, her eyes met those of Erma Stone.
From the shock of that flashing look of hate she received such a jolt, that, had not the Skipper held her steady, she must have fallen to the floor.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Dizzy? I shouldn’t wonder. You’ve been working rather hard and had a shock or two.” That was as close as he would come to speaking of Danny.