“If you can see your way clear to bringing it to the attention of the House, I certainly would appreciate it, Ed.”

“I’ll be glad to do whatever I can, Sid. Of course, I can’t guarantee anything. Naturally.”

“Naturally. None of us can do more than our best, and if you can see your way clear, why … by the way, I see where that Tidelands bill is coming up in your bailiwick. It just might be that I could ease that a little bit by talking it over with old Woody …”

Down the steps, their heels clattering on the bright metal; pausing a moment for the photographers. Now the doorway framed the businesslike figure of Wilbur K. Distelhorst. Wilbur Distelhorst could look brisk even while standing still. He glanced comprehensively at the assembled welcoming committee, at the impressive Brass, at the photographers crouched at the foot of the stairs, at the fishbowl faces swimming behind the big plate-glass windows of the swarming airport waiting room. He then shook hands with the two pretty airplane hostesses and his own good-bye now good-bye now good-bye now became a bass obbligato to their soprano chirpings. He began a leisurely descent of the stairs. The effect was that of a one-man parade. You just heard his first reply to the question put to him by the Daily Lode reporter, “I’m here for just one reason. To learn. To learn all about your wonderful …” when two handsome young people appeared in the doorway; a man and a woman.

“My God, she’s got on a mink coat!” Bridie Ballantyne exclaimed.

“Why not?” Chris retorted. “Wouldn’t you wear one if you had it?”

“Not if I was her, I wouldn’t. I’d dress plain as a post.”

“It just means she’s tough-fibered and honest, in her own terms,” Chris said. “Out for blood and doesn’t hide the switch-blade.”

“I guess they’re really wearing those hats this winter,” Bridie concluded, mournfully, “if she is. It sure makes mine look dated.”

Chris had not seen him in two years. She had not seen Dina Drake or Dave Husack or Sid Kleet in all that time. The future Mrs. Bayard Husack after all, Chris mused. Then, cattily for her, She’s certainly earned it. Bay looks set and sulky, I know that look.

The Air Force closed in on the General, the committee enveloped Dave Husack, Sid Kleet, Wilbur K. Distelhorst. Somehow young Husack and the mink-coated girl stood momentarily outside this cluster. In the flurry of greetings and the brief sorting of introductions Bridie’s loquacity emerged victorious. Above the murmured platitudes her hearty phrases loosely bound the group into a related bundle.

“You and Czar know each other, that’s for sure … and Miss Christine Storm, our Miss Alaska born and bred … the Barnetts … Bogard our Mayor … well now, you young folks standing way out there … we all know you, Bay Husack, leastways your pa … welcome to Alaska, Miss—mmm—uh—you sure came to the right place with that nice warm mink coat …?”