“Where’s the laurel wreath?” he asked, with a smile.
“My men were so proud of themselves that they had to blab,” Potter said, dismally. “They had to do a bit of bragging.”
“It looks as if they were proud of you—and their bragging was about their boss.”
Potter smiled wryly, “Yes, confound them!”
“It’s a valuable quality—to be able to capture the liking of the men who work for you.”
“They’re good men, mighty good men.”
Potter was shaking hands with Captain Ball and Lieutenant Emmons. “Have you breakfasted?”
“All ready to go with you,” said the major. “They really did no damage?”
“The men are busy replacing broken glass, that’s all.”
Presently they were driving through back streets toward Jefferson Avenue, and out that broad thoroughfare to Potter’s workshop.