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nobody else can.”
    â€œI wouldn’t offend Elvira for the world. After all, she earned all this money. We’ll build a special soundproof room for her where she can rust into a calm old age in peace.”
    â€œAnd what was I doing while Elvira was earning all this stuff, I’d like to know? Who makes her talk and say cute things that tough newspaper hombres will pay money for? Me! And do I get a soundproof room to enjoy my old age in? I’ll bet I don’t. Know what I’ll get? The mortgage, and shaking down the furnace, and a nice, new, shiny lawnmower to push round and round and round!”
    â€œAnd I’ll get a sink-strainer with a green edge, and maybe a washing machine.” Virginia lay across the foot of the bed, untying Mike’s shoestrings and tying them again in tidy knots. Trying not to remember that when he tied them again he would be—where? “Where will you be at four o’clock tomorrow, Mike?”
    Mike twisted, reached for his coat, got out a colored folder.
    â€œHere,” he showed her the dotted line that marked the route of the plane, “looking down into a green jungle, maybe—”
    So far—so far! Suddenly she could not bear it. She began to cry a little, chokily, swallowing her sobs, winking back her tears. She tried to smile bravely at the same time and did badly at it.
    â€œThe world,” she strangled, “is just too big!”
    Mike held her close. “Not so big, Ginny. Look—I’m in Miami in the morning—and the next morning I’m—away over here. And I can get back just as fast as that. Think how long it took the old sailing ships to make that trip—and even after they made the coast, it took weeks to get back into the interior, to places you can fly to now in three or four hours.”
    â€œI know,” said Virginia breathily, “I’m trying to concentrate on the wonders of progress—but somehow all I can think about is all those miles of blue water in between.”
    â€œListen—do you know that if you want to, you can talk to me by telephone? I’ll tell you—November seventh is my birthday—I’ll call you up then—I’ll let you know the exact hour.”
    â€œNovember seventh—you mean you’ll be gone—that long?”
    â€œOnly a little over a month, angel. I told you I haven’t an idea how long I’ll be down there—or where they’ll send me from there. There’s a rather ticklish diplomatic situation down there in those countries, right now—and serious need of consolidating goodwill before the penetration and propaganda from Europe get a foothold. Those countries could be alienated from the United States mighty easy—and a little publicity in American newspapers—decent publicity that will make tourists realize that they’re interesting places to see, will help a lot. The papers are willing to overlook the advertising aspect of this stuff I’m going to do, to help along the relationship between the Americas—and they’re willing to buy the stuff when probably they could get it free. So I think I’m pretty lucky.”
    â€œI suppose so,” said Virginia patiently, “and I’m lucky to have so much work to do that I won’t have time to brood and be desolate, except at night. But you will come back just as soon as you can, won’t you, Mike?”
    â€œDo you think you are the only person who is going to be counting the hours, gal? Do you think I’m going to be having fun down there—away from you? Well, then!”
    And then it was the last hour.
    Drizzling mist and darkness, and the plane for Miami standing on the runway at Newark, engine walloping over slowly, mailbags being stowed away, passengers, their faces greenish and wan in the floodlights, saying goodbye, climbing the little steps, waving.
    Virginia stood close to Mike and looked up at the sky. So