“Fifteen hundred?” Sparky whistled. “Practically flew from your cradle!”
“Nope—started when I was sixteen. You see, Dad is as much at home in the air as on the ground.”
“And you take after him?”
“Sure. Why not? What’s more, I know a lot about airplane engines and machine guns.”
“Handy man with tools, eh?” Sparky drawled.
“Try me.” Mary did not laugh. “Who knows? This job of ours may call for all the tricks we know before it’s done.”
“Guess that’s right,” Sparky agreed. “And I sure am glad you’re on the job.”
After that they once more lapsed into silence. The miles and the stars flew by. There were times when Mary was plagued by the illusion that somehow their ship had stopped traveling, that they were there, suspended in space, their motors roaring, but taking them nowhere. At such times she felt an all but over-powering desire to scream, for her overwrought imagination was telling her that the motors would roar on until the fuel was gone, then they would crash into the sea.
At times she felt drowsy, at others she was so wide awake that she wanted to leave her seat for a walk. This she knew was not entirely impossible since a bottle of oxygen attached to her tube and slung over her shoulder would give her freedom of movement. But this would call for more exertion than she felt like, and she lapsed back into sleepiness.
Then, little by little, she found herself drifting into a light and hilarious mood. She wanted to sing. She did hum little snatches of funny songs she knew. “The Bear Went Over The Mountain,” “The Old Gray Mare, She Ain’t What She Used To Be,” and “Clementine.”