«Daddy, Daddy! Will you help me? ««If I can.»«I want a map of February." Mel smiled. Libby had a verbal shorthand of her own which sometimes seemed more expressive than conventional words. It occurred to him that he could use a map of February himself. "There's a calendar in my desk in the den." Mel told her where to find it and heard her small feet running from the room, the telephone forgotten. It was Roberta, Mel assumed, who silently hung up. From the general manager's office suite, Mel walked onto the executive mezzanine which ran 'the length of the main terminal building. He carried the heavy topcoat with him. Pausing, he surveyed the thronged concourse below, which seemed to have become even busier within the past half-hour. In waiting areas, every available seat was occupied. Newsstands and information booths were ringed by crowds, among them many military uniforms. In front of all airline passenger counters were line-ups, some extending around corners out of sight. Behind the counters, ticket agents and supervisors, their normal numbers swelled by colleagues from earlier shifts retained on overtime, had schedules and passage coupons spread out like orchestral scores. Delays and reroutings which the storm had caused were taxing both scheduling and human patience. Immediately below Met, at Braniff ticketing, a youngish man with long, blond hair and a yellow scarf was proclaiming loudly, "You've the effrontery to tell me I mustgo to Kansas City to get to New Orleans . You people are rewriting geography! You're mad with power!" The ticket agent facing him, an attractive brunette in her twenties, brushed a band over her eyes before answering with professional patience, "We can route you directly, sir, but we don't know when. Because of the weather, the longer way will be faster and the fare is the same. " Behind the yellow-scarfed man, more passengers with other problems pressed forward urgently. At the United counter, a small pantomime was being played. A would-be passenger-a well-dressed businessman-leaned for-ward, speaking quietly. By the man's expression and actions, Mel Bakersfeld could guess what was being said. "I would very much like to get on that next flight.»
