“Dad!” he whispered; “are you glad?” The radio was again in working order, and the operators had sent messages back to Ayre, and long radiograms were sent to the news syndicates of New York, Berlin, Petrograd, and Tokio by the reporters, each eager to turn in the best story of the storm. David did not see London. They had passed the ancient city at about six o’clock, while he slept. “I’m sorry I missed seeing London,” David remarked to Dulcie, who wandered into the control room about nine. “I was asleep, too,” said she. “I wanted awfully to see it. I’ve been reading a book about the Zeppelin during the war. The English used to make London pitch black every night on account of German air raids. They were able to make the city practically invisible, but they could not hide the river Thames. That always gave them away, because the bombers had plans of every important place in the city—churches, public buildings, stations, tanks, magazines, and freight depots—and they could locate them by the river. Then down would come a few tons of bombs.” “Pretty ghastly,” said David. He thought of the price he had paid for the war, a price paid by millions, and set his mouth hard. Dulcie studied his face. “David, did you lose anyone?” she asked. Her voice was so sympathetic, so tender, that he opened his heart. He could almost feel himself flying with his young and gallant father, as he told her about him, his work, and his death. It was not a long story as David told it. When he finished Dulcie’s eyes were misty. “Oh, David!” she sighed, and impulsively patted his arm. “Your poor, poor mother! But how proud you must be!” She hadn’t pitied him. She had understood. “I am proud; too proud to broadcast that I’m his son until I can do something worth while, myself.” “As if you hadn’t done so, already, you nice modest David! But I won’t tell. Not even daddy!” “Heavens, _no_!” cried David, giving the wheel a twist. “Oh Lord! Dulcie—” “Oh, shush, silly, as if I would tell! No one is to know. Just you and me—and Red Ryan. Why Ryan, Davie?” “He guessed it, the darned fox. Nothing I said. He just picked it out of the air. His Irish shrewdness, I suppose. Anyway, he asked me point-blank.” “You like him, don’t you, David?” “I’ll say I do!” said David warmly. “He may be rough on the outside, but he’s nobody’s fool, and smart as a whip, and as loyal as they make ’em. By the way, where is Cram all this time?” Dulcie chuckled. “Poor Wally! He’s in his stateroom, a very sick man.” “Honestly?” demanded David. “No, just all in.” She leaned close and whispered, “Scared to death, Dr. Forsythe told daddy. I heard him, and daddy shooed me away. So don’t breathe it. And see what he says when he comes out.” “You never turned a hair, did you?” admiringly. Dulcie shrugged. “Why should I? I have no mother, and daddy was here, so what was the difference?” “What about your other friends?” asked David, with a wide blank gaze.