Once more on the street where shadows had grown long and dark, and people by hundreds were hastening home before the air raid siren sounded, Cherry gripped Dave’s arm as she said in a tragic whisper: “David, I never can stick it out. It will only be a dismal failure.”
“Nonsense!” Dave laughed. “It’s only stage-fright. Come on. My uncle took me to a rare little basement eating place once. They serve good old American coffee and waffles with maple syrup. That will put you on your toes.”
In the quiet of the sub-cellar, they drank great quantities of coffee and ate their waffles joyously.
“I—I guess I’ll make it now,” Cherry murmured. Once more they were on the deserted streets.
Then, as if to crush her high hopes, all hell let loose. The roar of powerful motors, the scream of sirens, the boom and bang of anti-aircraft guns filled all the night with terror.
“I can’t let you in ’ere now,” said a burly guard at the entrance to the broadcasting station. “It is quite impossible. You shouldn’t be ’ere at all.”
“But this lady is to sing over the radio at nine!” Dave protested.
“Can’t be ’elped.” The guard was firm. “Orders is orders. No ladies hallowed in the station during an alarm. If you’d ask me sir, I’d hadvise a subway station at once, sir. Yonder’s one not ’alf a block haway.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when there came a low, whining sound, followed by a flash that lit all the sky. Then came a roar fit to burst their eardrums, and a tremendous push that tossed them to the pavement five yards away.
Without a word Dave scrambled to his feet, picked the slight girl up in his arms, dashed half a block, and was down two flights of stairs to the subway station before he fully realized what he was doing.