sed. There was always a mocking smile lurking at the corners
of his mouth.

"I say, old fellow, you should be crowing. You are now a flight
commander and I understand you are to rate nothing less than a major."

"'Tis not the stripes I want," O'Malley muttered. "Sure, an' I'm told
this Colonel Benson who is to be in command is a spalpeen of the worst
sort. Niver did I care fer brass hats an' now I am to be near one all
the time."

"I understand Colonel Benson holds to a strict diet, no coffee, tobacco,
or pie," Stan said gravely. "He expects his men to follow his example."

O'Malley snorted. "Sure, an' I'll be after eatin' pie right off the top
o' his desk."

"He is said to be the best-dressed officer in the Army." Allison had his
gaze fixed upon O'Malley's sloppy uniform. The shirt was open at the
neck to allow O'Malley's huge Adam's apple to roll up and down, free and
unencumbered. O'Malley's cap was wrinkled and sagging as it attempted to
cover his shock of wild hair.

"I'm a fightin' man," O'Malley said gravely. "As such I waste no time
on trifles." His big mouth was tightly clamped shut and a frown wrinkled
his homely face.

Stan and Allison broke out laughing. Colonel Benson would have to take
O'Malley as he was, that they well knew. They had fought side by side
with him in the Battle of Britain, in the Far East, and now in Africa.
O'Malley was known as the wildest pilot in the service and one of the
best.

"We better get going," Stan said as he rose to his feet. He held out a
hand to O'Malley. "Hold off the invasion of Sicily and Italy until we
get back, pal."

"I'll be startin' it tomorrow," O'Malley said sourly.

"Cheerio," Allison added as he shook hands with his pal.

O'Malley watched them walk out of the mess. He had to admit, as the door
closed after them, that his gloom was due entirely to parting with the
two men he had fought beside for so long. Such things as colonels who
were tough did not bother O'Malley. Having Stan and Allison walk out on
him was the thing that hurt. It was his own fault that he was not going
with them. He had refused to quit the front for a month or so of ease
and rest.

Gazing out through an open window, he watched a group of natives herd a
flock of donkeys down toward the main part of the city of Bizerte. He
certainly would kick himself if no invasion came off for a month.
Lowering his feet from the top of the table, he strolled out into the
sunshine. Colonel Bens