“Many say so. And this is his violin, one of them, perhaps his best.”
“But why here?” Curlie stared in astonishment.
“He has another. He likes the other as well; has it on tour. To-morrow in your city he is to play for fifteen hundred crippled children. That’s for the afternoon. At night he plays for the rich, the beautiful, the mighty, in the opera house. Thirty-five hundred of them. And his violin, his precious instrument, is out of commission. Don’t know why nor how. Somebody careless, probably.
“And this,” he added, placing a hand lightly on the package, “is his chance, the only other he can use.”
“His and the crippled children’s chance.” Curlie’s tone was almost reverent. “They shall have the chance. We’ll go through, my plane and I.”
Curlie recalled these words now as he ploughed on through the darkness and the night. Still there came to his ears the mysterious drumming of that other plane.
And then, suddenly, so loud that the speaker seemed at his very elbow, words broke in upon the thunder of the motor.
“The radio!” he whispered tensely.
“Official orders!” came in a gruff voice. “Land at once.”
“Land at once! in this darkness!” the boy thought in dismay. He was over a level farm country. The thing was possible. But why?