“Are you riding to school? Come back this way?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be waiting at the ship for you. I want to be present when you see it, because it all sounds so much more impressive as I explain things.”
“I will be supposed to worship in silent awe, perhaps?”
“You be interested, and I’ll do the worshipping,” grinned Hemingwood.
“You don’t appear to be of the reverent sort. However, I’ll look forward to it. Good-by until this afternoon!”
She threw him a smile and urged her fat white horse into a lumbering gallop.
“She’s no East Point girl; she’s just out of college and getting a year’s experience or something!” soliloquized Hemingwood. “Must be some little schoolhouse up at that settlement I saw from the air. Cute kid, and she knows what it’s all about too.”
He resumed his pilgrimage to East Point, musing contentedly on the prospect before him. He had not proceeded five hundred yards, however, before loud clanking and rattling announced the fact that there was a vehicle approaching. A battered Ford truck bounced into sight and clattered up to him, slowing gradually. Loose tools in the rear were responsible for the weird combination of noises given forth by the flivver. Two men were in the seat. The truck stopped alongside the flyer, and the fat man at the wheel hailed him.