“We are in Russia,” he continued. “Leningrad and Moscow are ahead, but our course lies between them. Viatka is directly in our line of flight, about six hundred miles east of Moscow.” David, still impressed by the size and loneliness of the country they were entering, slipped on an overall, and went up the ladder leading into the hull. He gained the catwalk, and made his cautious way along the narrow foothold that ran the entire length of the hull. Reaching the end of the walk, David looked over the intakes of the fuel and water lines, which entered there. Everything was in perfect shape. He went back, and looked into the baggage room and then into the storage rooms for the cartridge-like cases of fuel gas. Then he went down to Red’s cabin. Red was writing postcards, aided and abetted by the kitten. “Hello, fella!” he cried. “Come up to see me cat? Ain’t he a beaut? You can tell he’s a cat at first glance, small as he is. Now a pup at that age might turn into anything between a dachshund and a Great Dane. Those seem to be the most popular breeds in this country. But a cat—well, a cat’s a regular cat from its first breath. Just a soft bundle of mews, and scratches, and devilment. “Did Miss Hammond tell you, now, about how those little German bands gave her a menagerie? She farmed ’em all out on us. I think she’s partial to me, Dave, because she gave me the kitten. I suggested lettin’ Wally take care of the bit of a monkey, but she said she wouldn’t ‘trust to his finer feelings’. She didn’t make it clear whose she meant; just twinkled those devastatin’ eyes at me, and walked off, leavin’ me with this bit of fur. I’ve named him Trouble. He cries in a loud voice when I leave him, and I daren’t let him out for a second. Imagine those claws sprinting up a gas bag. So I spend most of my idle moments here, just to hearten him. But if you want fun, go see the crew and their share of the menagerie.” “Well, Mr. Hammond will inspect around here some fine day, and then we will be in wrong,” warned David. “Not a bit! Just the first roar, and Miss Dulcie will slip up the way she does, and she will say, ‘Why, they are mine, daddy, and these nice men are keeping them for me,’ and I’ll bet we will each get a medal.” “Likely to be that way,” said David, laughing. “Do you see much of Cram lately?” “Not so much. He sort of keeps to himself. I cross his path every little while. Gosh, Davie, the truth is I’m tryin’ to keep from giving him a sock.” Red sighed. “He’s my one bad dream.” “I don’t see why you take him so hard,” said David. “You sound as though he had grabbed off your best girl.”