“That’s right.”
“But, by the way,” his voice rose, “you have one very good friend, eminently worth while, I’d say.”
“I have several,” she smiled. She was happy, happier than she had been for days. She had really started Silent Storm talking. “But then,” she thought with a shy smile, “who ever heard of a really, truly silent storm, anyway?”
“This friend of yours,” he said quietly, “is also a very old friend of mine—old C. K., we used to call him.”
“You don’t mean C. K. Kennedy!” She stared in disbelief.
“That’s exactly who I do mean. He taught me most of what I know about radio. He’s one man in a million.”
“Oh! Then—” she exclaimed, “then we’re practically cousins!”
“Something like that,” he replied dryly.
Then, springing to his feet, he said: “Okay—come in, three-two-six.”
And that was all for then. Evening was coming on. Many big ships were coming in through the blue. Every moment was taken from then to the end of the shift. Yes, that was all for then, but it was enough to keep the girl dreaming in the golden twilight, under the palms when the day’s work was done. And those were strange dreams. Secret radios, ships, submarines, giant four-motored bombers, old C. K. and Silent Storm were all there in one glorious mixup of lights and shadows.