38McGee scratched his head. “So I’ve just learned, but it’s the first I’ve heard of it. Funny you didn’t mention it to me.”
Larkin eyed him curiously. “Well,” slowly, “I knew you were English and–”
“But I’m not, and you know it!” McGee flared.
“Calm, brother, calm! I mean, I knew your father and mother were English, and so was your brother.”
“But I was born in America. I’m just as much of an American as you are!”
“Calm, brother, calm! No one says you are not. But because of your family nationality, I supposed you would want to finish out the string with the R.F.C. and,” he reached over and tousled McGee’s mop of flaming red hair, “I’m just fool enough to want to stick around where you are–you little shrimp! So I thought I wouldn’t bring up the subject.”
McGee gave him a look of deep understanding and appreciation.
“Fact is,” Larkin went on, “I just got a letter from Dad the other day and he seems to be pretty hot under the collar because I haven’t made any move to get repatriated.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“You poor nut! I’ve just told you.”