kipper! You had a perfect right to think as
you did. Now here's the ambulance, so I'll stop talking. Good luck,
fellow. And if we can work it, we'll come say howdy to you in the
hospital. Good luck, anyway!"

"Yes, a million in luck, old thing!" Freddy Farmer added as he stood
smiling down at the man.

"I've already had the million in luck, thanks to you two," the pilot
said, as the ambulance medico came climbing into the B-25. "Be sure and
come see me, if you can. I want to thank you for bringing the ship
through. I'm kind of fond of her, you see, and--Well, you know how it
is, eh?"

Both Dawson and Farmer nodded gravely. Being pilots, they knew exactly
how a fellow felt about his aircraft. Made of metal, and plastics, and
wood, and fabric, to be sure. But to its pilot, it was something human
and full of understanding. Something that couldn't be put into words,
because there are no words in any language that can adequately describe
the feeling a pilot holds in his heart for his plane. Dawson and Farmer
simply nodded gravely, and gave a hand in lifting the wounded man out of
the bomber and putting him in the ambulance.

"A nice guy," Dave murmured as the ambulance pulled away. "I sure am
going to visit him if I get the chance."

"Yes, and me too, if!" Freddy Farmer murmured.

The remark caused Dawson to turn his head and glance sharply at his pal.

"And just what do you mean by that?" he demanded.

Young Farmer shrugged and nodded toward the Administration Building.
"That chap headed our way," he said. "I've a bit of a hunch that
something is up."

"Huh?" Dawson gasped. "What--"

He let the rest go as a field orderly came up on the run and saluted
smartly. "Colonel Welsh's compliments, Captains Dawson and Farmer," the
orderly said. "He asks that you report to him in the commanding
general's office in an hour."

"An _hour_?" Dawson choked out, and then caught himself. "Very good,
Sergeant," he said hastily. "We'll be there."

The orderly saluted and retreated toward the Administration Building.
Dawson groaned softly.

"One hour, and off we go again! How much sleep can a fellow catch in an
hour, I'd like to know?"

"About sixty minutes' worth," Freddy Farmer murmured. "Frankly, I prefer
to spend that time eating. Let's go hunt up the Officers' Mess."

Dawson started to speak, thought better of it, and dropped into step
with Freddy. One hour, huh? And then what? But he was much too tired and
hungry to b