Well, in one little high school surrounded by mile after mile of golden wheat, one of the girls raised her hand.

One look at the thrusting bosom and Hank said, "Yes?"

"Uh, Captain Hastings, well, I mean, is a girl in any, you know, danger when she works as a hostess?"

This was not the first time that Hank had fielded the question. He had an answer ready: "Absolutely not."

No hostess was likely to be raped aboard a plane. What might happen to her on a date with a passenger, later, he presumed was not covered by the attractive little girl's blushing question.

Hank took note of the kid. Ash-blonde hair, perfect. Those breasts, more than perfect. He watched her walk and he murmured, "Wow."

He wished he could meet her again, and then he found himself face to face with her in the local department store. He had gone in to buy socks. He passed her where she was trying-on winter mittens.

"Hello, there! Aren't you the young lady who…?"

"Oh! Captain Hastings!"

"Guess you have an early winter up here in the Dakotas."

"Oh my, and does it ever get cold!"

"Well, you join us and I'll see what I can do to put you on our route to Hawaii."

"Oh, my!" She had a lovely laugh.

"Then we all can see how you look in a grass skirt."

"Oh, dear!"

But not too much embarrassed. And not at all trying to get away from him.

"Ice-cream soda? I was just going to get one for myself and wishing I had someone to talk to."

"Oh well sure"

As innocent as that. And didn't she love it when other high-school girls in the old-fashioned ice-cream parlor took notice of her date. Too bad he had to leave that evening because he was speaking tomorrow at a high school in Kansas City.