There were three who looked like Texans, all buddies, sitting in one seat and playing rummy. Buddies. What buddies had he ever had? Never had there been much in common between him and his adolescent associates, either in the war orphanage in France or after Uncle Andy had adopted him. All kids were like—well, in a world apart. Except that girl, Martia. He hadn't even talked to her—and yet the two of them knew something. Something important concerning just themselves. But what?
"You feel all right, kid?" asked the same soldier again.
Kid! Henry was sixteen. The other was only twenty. Where did he get off at—
The ringing in his ears was more insistent. He swayed, dizzily, catching the stair rail for support.
One of the soldiers was a negro, one of those dark ones that almost looked blue-black. But he was the friendliest of all. He even got up to see what he could do.
"Man, you look like you're all mixed up," he said, smiling. "Are you airsick, or constipated?"
The others laughed. Henry blushed again and ran down the narrow, circular staircase, this time actually crashing into a large man in a dark suit who looked like the ads in Esquire concerning "Men of Distinction." He had gray at the temples and a ruddy, confident face with penetrating gray eyes.
"Sorry!" exclaimed Henry, and went on. He had recognized the man. He had been pointed out earlier as Congressman Burley, attached to some world-touring congressional committee on something or other. Sure were a lot of big shots on board, he reflected, as he came down onto B deck.
There were many of them here in the observation lounge—heavily braided officers, some of them high-ranking women in the Service; scientists, international businessmen, newspaper correspondents, entertainers—and foreigners. Henry was especially impressed with the Prince from India who wore thousand dollar turbans and beautiful jewelry. And the Swedish movie star, a beautiful blonde who was anything but dumb. Uncle Andy had been especially interested in her, as well as that young air hostess over there talking to the bald-headed man by the magazine rack.