“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long, commander,” he said ingratiatingly. On the stroke of twelve, with Lakehurst making all the noise it could, the Moonbeam took off, and soon after the passengers retired, leaving only the officers in charge to watch while she started over the high sea. Wednesday morning found everyone refreshed and enthusiastic. Dulcie’s Lakehurst roses gave the salon a gala appearance. Below them the Atlantic lay as smooth as a floor, the bright sun glistening on its surface. They had been flying very low. Two liners passed beneath them, and saluted with puffs of fleecy smoke. In return the ship majestically inclined her silver nose in a triple dip. Later they gained altitude smoothly, and reached fifteen hundred feet. Now little fleecy clouds met them and broke like foam on the prow. The air was clear, the sun blinding. The passengers accepted the new environment with ease. They read, slept, or wrote letters filled with detailed descriptions. David found it hard to absent himself from the control room for more than a few minutes at a time, although with Captain Fraine in command and Lieutenant Florsheim as second pilot, David had actually no more to do than an observer, except for his turn at the wheel. Mr. Hammond came in often, too. On one of his visits his eyes were attracted to Captain Fraine as the young man pressed his palm to the top of his bandaged temple. “Is that troubling you, Fraine?” he inquired. “It’s really all right,” replied Captain Fraine. “Just sore, and tender. The plank hit me squarely on my old wound. The place has always been a little troublesome. Worse in stormy weather, I notice. There’s a silver plate in there, and I think it doesn’t fit very well. I mean to have it looked after, sometime.” “Better not neglect it,” advised Mr. Hammond. “It really has never troubled me enough to speak of, but that board would have given a good crack to a harder head than mine.” “Well, don’t try to stand all the watches. Make these youngsters take that wheel. Come back with me, and take it easy.” “Thank you, sir, I will presently,” said the captain. He lifted a hand toward his head again, but hastily withdrew it. David, watching him, knew how he felt. Back in the lounge, Dulcie was being entertained by Walter Cram. He was telling her far too much, but he didn’t know it. His egotism, his silly pride, his preposterous vanity ran over his narrative like an ugly stain, and through it all a slimy envy of David that puzzled Dulcie. As soon as she could, she left him and wandered around until she found Red Ryan, busy with his eternal testing. “Do you ever stop?” she asked. “I don’t want to, Miss Hammond. I love it. Every time I try a screw or test a wire, I think, ‘Here, you beauty, you can just depend on Red, who loves you like a sweetheart, to keep you trim and true.’ And all my fellas feel the same. We just love the Moonbeam, and what you feel love for, turns toil into pleasure.”