First there was the standing grouse of his not being able to take a man's job, ever, in that sort of show. They would never allow a one-armed chap to go up in a plane, of course. Not even by altering the mechanism of the whole thing so that he could work the controls left-handed—that was off for good; and he was sick of it.
He also felt sick with young Jack. What on earth had he been trying to play at? He had no duty. He was married that morning; hadn't he, Ross, seen him married? What the something did he mean by leaving his wife and chasing off like that? Saying "All right; shut up——" What did the young fool mean by it?
Further, there was that little hussy that Captain Ross was sick with. Sitting——wherever he was sitting while the raid-guns scolded outside, he went over and over in his mind the many grouses that he had against that little hussy Olwen Howel-Jones. She didn't know how to treat him right.
She was a darned little flirt.
Look at her at Les Pins with that ass young Brown!
Look at her here in London, with that even worse ass, young Ellerton!
Scandalous.... Scandalous....
To Ellerton he meant to give such a telling-off as the young man had never heard in his life before.
And to the girl he was going to speak about it this very evening. Then the raid had come....
Of course Ellerton would see that child all the way home.