“I might.”
“Hemingwood—George Hemingwood, hailing at present from Camp Henry.”
“How do you do, Lieutenant Hemingwood,” she smiled. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“Be a nice day if the weather doesn’t change, Miss Blank,” agreed the flyer.
“I’ll let you substitute ‘Morgan’ in the blank. Are we ordinary people on the ground to be allowed to look at your airplane?”
“I’ll show you the sights myself.”
She glanced down at the tiny gold watch on her wrist.
“Ten minutes of nine! I’ve got to hurry. I’m a hard working school-marm, you see. But I do want to see your plane, lieutenant.”
“What time do you get through for the day?”
“Four o’clock.”