“Anyway, I’ll keep my fingers crossed.” She laughed as she climbed in.
When Danny had gone through the ritual of turning on the current, gas and oil, warming up his motor and setting his wheels for the run, they were off.
It was one of those cloudless Florida evenings when little fishing boats, looking from the sky like toys, glide over the dark blue waters, when a distant steamer sends off a slow, lazy drifting cloud of smoke and all seems at peace.
They took a turn out over the ocean, then swung inland where little, blue lakes dot the dark green of forests and the lighter green of farms.
“Nice place, Florida,” said Danny. “We’ve been missing something, should have taken a vacation down here every year.”
“Oh! So you’re the son of a millionaire!” Sally laughed.
“Not quite. But if I worked hard all the year, guess I could make it. What do you say we try it after the war is over?”
They Swung Out Over the Sea Again
“Don’t mind if I do. But, Danny,” her voice hit a serious note, “did you ever think that war is not all a dead loss? Think of the boys who would have grown up to sell socks, or run a streetcar or mend shoes—”