At that, selling nineteen out of 21 seats on these new babies was a dartled good job. Better than any one else had done, Terry reflected. His chest inflated to almost its normal size with that thought when he saw the boss coming. By his bland look Terry felt he was about to be on the receiving end of a few well chosen words. His intuition had not failed him.
"Nice work, son," said Mr. Loomis.
"Nineteen tickets—and two empty. Of course you realize there is nothing in the world as perishable as an unsold aeroplane ticket. You take pigs"—Terry decided he'd rather take a sock'at Mr. Loomis—"take pigs or turnips or almost anything. Put it on the market at a profit. If it won't sell, you can let it go for cost 10 that won't work, you finally get em to buy it at a price where at least you get something back on your original investment. Aeroplane tickets? O'Rourke, they're - perishable.
After a considerable wait the door xas opened by a neat elderly maid.
Td like to see Mr. Dak said Terry, giving her his best smile.
"Why, sir, 'm—I'm sorry—" she began. A shock of tousled bland hair appeared from behind her skirts.
"My dad's gone away for a long time," the small boy said. "My mother says I'm the man of the house now."
"Did he go by train, sonny?" Terry asked. "He was supposed to fly on one of our planes."
"I thought he did," said the boy. "Maybe he was scared of planes. Im not scared. I'd like to ride in one of yours all right."
The maid bent swiftly and kissed the top of his head. She pushed him behind her and came out on the step, almost closing the door. Terry saw that her eyes were wet. passed away this morning,
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.