“It would really be a shame to pass right through India without seeing any of it,” Judy said as they slid smoothly over a paved street.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Mary agreed. “But business is business. We haven’t much time. I must always be in touch with Sparky.”

“We’ll arrange it that way,” Judy promised. “We’ll not be away from the phone more than an hour at any time.”

“That will be swell. You see, we have part of a ship load of quinine.”

“Quinine!” Judy exclaimed.

“It’s for Burma.”

“Oh! You are a public benefactor! What a wonderful privilege, to fly half way round the world to bring health back to hundreds of our boys!”

“It has its drawbacks,” Mary spoke slowly.

“How do you mean?”

“Let me tell you later. Just now I’d like to sit back and enjoy the sights.”

“Do that. I’ll say never a word.”

For a full half hour after that they wound in and out, from one gorgeous scene to another in a world’s paradise. Beautiful residences set back among tropical trees, little gardens where oranges and lemons clung to branches like spheres of gold, narrow arched bridges over which they glided—all these delighted Mary’s eyes.

The people were strange. Some were faultlessly dressed Europeans, some dark-robed Mohammedans, and some the slender, olive-complexioned Hindus. But all, even the children, seemed bright, well-fed, and gay.

“Why this is a golden paradise!” Mary exclaimed. “I never dreamed that India could be like this!”

“It can’t,” said Judy. “Not all of it. In America there are two sides of the railroad track. In India there are the two sides to the river. This is the bright side. I’ll show you the other side after tea. You need to see that at dusk.

“We’ll have to be getting back,” said Judy. “There may be a phone call from that man Sparky. It must be great traveling with a man like Sparky.”

“Oh, it is!”

“You must have lots of fun together.”

“We do, on the job.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“The rest of the time he’s too busy taking care of his engines.”

“So he sends you off alone to have all the fun,” Judy laughed. “But when you’ve reached the journey’s end—”

“Will we have fun!” Mary grinned.

“Well, here we are,” Judy swung the car into a drive before a stately brick building. “This is the school. Classes are over and all the teachers are waiting to have tea with you.”

They walked up the broad path that lay between two rows of stately palms. Judy led Mary to her own room, that she might wash and brush up, then hurried away to ask about a phone call.

“No call yet,” she said, as she returned.

“Listen!” Mary held up a hand. From the sky came a thunder of sound.

“Big planes, a lot of them! Come on!” Seizing Judy’s hand, Mary dragged her outside.

There, looking up, they saw a large formation of heavy bombers. All but breathless, Mary began to count. “Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight,” she ended. “Judy! That’s the flight Sparky and I started out with. We’re going to have company over the mountains!”

“And you’re going to need it,” Judy said soberly.

Had Mary consulted her own wishes, she would have hurried away to the airport, but courtesy decreed that she remain at Judy’s tea, so Judy’s tea it was, and not so bad after all.

There were twenty-three teachers in the group waiting to welcome Mary on the large, cool porch of the teachers’ home. Some had gray hair and some, like Judy, were young. One and all they were eager to know more about the war and the lands they had left behind.

When tea had been served and they had chatted informally for a short time, they led Mary to a large, easy chair, and bolstered her up with cushions.

“Now,” said the dean, “you are our queen. We each and every one of us demand an audience.”

“A queen for an hour,” Mary laughed. “What is it you wish to know and what is your supplication?”

“Tell me,” said a girl with glorious red hair, “I have done some flying, oh! quite a bit. How may I become a WAF and go flying around the world?”

“You probably can’t,” was the disturbing reply. “I, it seems, am a person of special privilege or, perhaps you might say, with a dark curse upon my head. At least, until now, I am the only member of our band who has turned into a world traveler.

“But if you are extremely serious—,” she added.

“Oh! I am!”

“Yes, I also,” came from another corner.

“And I,” came again.

“In that case,” said Mary, “all you have to do is to get back to America.”

“Very simple!”

“Just a little hop.”

“Yes,” Mary agreed, “but whether I will make it, or how, I don’t really know.”

“When you are in America,” she went on, “make sure you have five hundred hours of flying to your credit, then step right in. There are rather rigid examinations. After that you go through four weeks of tireless basic training, learning how to be a soldier and all that.”

“And then you get your wings?” the red head suggested.

“You might call it that. After that you fly and fly and fly, delivering all manner of planes to all sorts of places all over U.S.A.

“And then,” Mary drew a long breath, “if you’ve been a good girl and if the gods are kind, you get a trip round the world, practically free.”

“Tell us about this marvelous trip,” another girl said.

Mary allowed herself a fleeting thought of all the grand boys of the bombing flight waiting at the airport, then launched herself into the bright, hilarious, sober, breath-taking story of her journey. The crackup in the Brazilian jungle, the beachcomber of Brazil, the Jap spy, the Woman in Black, the battle over the desert with Burt Ramsey as hero, the missing traveling bag of Persia were all there.

“Oh! That’s how it is!” the red head gasped when Mary had finished.

“No,” Mary laughed. “That’s how it was. Once we have delivered our plane and cargo, I suspect that we shall drift back to America on flowery beds of ease and with never an adventure.”