Henderson daily dispatch., 1939-06-03
CHAPTER TWO


STANDING IN the alcove in the
parsonage hall, clutching the re-
ceiver with one hand, Sarah Anne
felt her slender body trembling.
Some place, hundreds of miles
away, Jack Courtney was holding
a telephone, too. He was calling
her. Over the mountains, through
the tunnels, across the prairies and
cities and rural roads, their voices
would speak to each other.
Miss Melton?" That was a
strange voice. Besides, Jack would
have said, "Sally Anne," or Honey,
I did it," This must be a secretary
for one of the airways or a pro-
motion man. Some earth-bOund in
dividual who looked after prosaic
details for the men who flew. He
was putting the number through
for Jack.
eyes, speaking" she answered.
Miss Melton, I'm Ted Evans Of
the Dispatch. I won't waste time
on formalities. Would you tell me,
please, when you and Jack Court
ney are to be married ?"
She did not answer at once. The
astonishing question took her
breath and she dropped into the
chair at the telephone table.
Twill you say that again, very
slowly?" she asked.
'Why?"
If a newspaper man thought he
would trick her into a revelation
in order to provide a romantic
background for Jack, that news
paper man could go write about
the weather in Hawaii!
"You> mean you are not en-
gaged?" Either the man belonged
on the stage from the feigned sur
prise in his voice, or he had be-
lieved in his own question.
"Just where did you get that
idea?" she asked.
"From Courtney. Where else
could we?"
From Jack?" Had he let his
brother flyers know that there was
a girl named Sarah Anne Melton,
a small-town minister's daughter
who taught the third grade But
if he had, she was not supposed to
know it. There was a bridge, two
years long, which she and Jack
must cross to find each other, only
sometimes you could fly across a
void.
.."Are you still there?" the man
persisted. ''How shall I quote you ?"
mot at all, please. Jack is very
dear, very old friend, and I'm glori-
ously glad about his fight. That's
all, and your sentimental notions
should be knocked into cooked
hat!"
She spoke quickly.
where did you get my name ?"
Sister, no one on this golden
coast knows you but the flying
guy! Where else could we get it 2"
Where else? Then Jack must
have made some idle remark in
which he used her name, and the
press had magnified it. But it
meant that she mattered in some
way, small though it might be.
She even laughed happily into
the telephone. "You ask Jack any
thing you wish to know. And I
don't think he has any romantic
ideas either"
She hung up. She was weak. She
had not heard the voice for which
she was listening, but somewhere.
somehow Jack remembered.
The mention of her name was
such a fiimsy thing on which to
build, yet it was living, breath
ing, shining contact. Her eyes be-
came wider, STARTLED, dark as
long nights. She brushed her black
hair until it's ,curls were a naistv
cloud around the small oval of her
face. She had planned to wear a
simple linen frock with a row of
white. buttons, but now she slipped
a white chiffon from it's hanger.
1t was light as Jacks own clouds.
and there were threads of gold
caught in the shimmering folds.
This was a gala night and she must
wear festive dress.
!. So it happened that Bing Wells,