“I’m Sally Scott and I’m a WAVE!” she confessed.
“A WAVE! Then we belong to the same outfit. I’m a flying sailor. Shake!” He put out a hand for a good handclasp.
“Oh! A flying sailor!” she exclaimed. “Then you could teach me to receive in code.”
“Certainly I could and will, in my spare time.”
“We have an hour after supper.”
“Suits me. But, say, now that I have you, how about a coke and a chat somewhere?”
She did not reply at once. “We—we have to be careful. Mind taking my pal along?”
“Not a bit.”
“Then it’s a go. I—Oh, boy! Nancy will think I’m dead, or something! Wait. I’ll be back.”
“I’ll wait.”