“My club.”
“Oh! You live in a club house?”
“Wait till you see it!”
“I’ll be there at 8 P. X. and we’ll make a night of it. Nothing rough. Just the swellest dinner you ever ate, a little dancing, and confessions. There must always be confessions before a parting that may be forever.”
Gale did not know exactly what he meant by “confessions”, but let it go at that.
* * * * * * * *
She did not find the “third secret of radar” next day, and that in spite of four hours of searching in the hot sun. “It’s not here,” she told herself at last, “But I’m still sure it’s somewhere around here.”
That evening Jimmie Nightingale called at the appointed hour.
As he stepped into the big, cool lounge of the Club his eyes wandered from corner to corner. He took in all the big easy chairs where girls in slacks, shorts and robes lounged in comfort. He saw the white-clad attendants and the gleaming glasses at the bar, listened to the low murmur of voices and the whir of electric fans, then exclaimed under his breath:
“Boy! Oh boy! This is something!” A strange smile played around his lips as she joined him.