“Daddy,” cried Dulcie, stamping, “I can’t bear the sight of him!” “Can’t bear—well, what were you doing the other night when I came in to the salon, and found you at that corner table, holding his hand, and Cram smirking and blinking at you like a hound pup?” Dulcie giggled. “I was reading his palm. I told him he would have a very distinguished career, and would probably fill some high public office. I said I thought he would be an ambassador.” “Ambassador, my eye!” he growled. “What do you do it for, anyway, Dulcie, smearing it on like that?” “They expect it. If you don’t kid ’em along they don’t know how to talk at all.” “Well, we will hope for the best,” said Mr. Hammond, and added, as he left her, “Go vamp Doctor Sims. If you can get one real compliment out of him before we reach Ayre, I’ll buy you a new roadster.” “Darling!” cried Dulcie, making a dash for her parent. But he shut the door hastily, and was gone. Mr. Hammond went to the chart room, studied the maps, then joined David in the control room. “Well, it won’t be long now, before we are over Japan,” he remarked. “We will probably spend two days there at the airport, for a good overhauling.” “There are some recent radiograms in that clip, commander. I see that they are planning a regular blow-out for us.” Mr. Hammond commenced looking over the pile of radiograms which David had indicated. “Well, well!” he exclaimed. “They have arranged for six expert engineers to meet us and take care of the ship. Two Americans, two Germans, and two Japanese. That is certainly doing things up right. And there is a ground crew of five hundred Japanese sailors, specially trained. Just what they did for the Graf Zeppelin. They want to know just when to expect us. Here are advance greetings from all their princes, highest ranking army and navy officers, and state officials.” He sighed. “Well, captain, it does look like a big reception.” There was a thrill of excitement on the ship. Everyone was conscious of it. After the days spent crossing Siberia, the thought of disembarkation in beautiful, alluring Japan was delightful. The reporters clicked their little portables in a chorus which sounded like hail. There was much joking and laughter. Doctor Trigg practiced sentences out of a Japanese-English phrase book. Doctor Sims, who had once been in Tokio, knew of an obscure little burial-place that he meant to visit. At three-thirty o’clock, on Thursday afternoon, they passed over Mororan, on the island of Kokkaiddo, Japan. They were now only five hundred and fifty miles from Tokio.