115“Yes, sir.” A smart salute, a stiff about face, and he was gone. They could hear him grumbling as he went down the stairs.
McGee looked at the folded paper. On it, in Cowan’s hand, was written; To Lieutenants McGee and Larkin.
“What is it?” Larkin asked, impatiently.
McGee unfolded the sheet. Scrawled across it were these electrifying words:
“Just finished talking over the phone to Wing. They inform me that orders have been received approving your application for repatriation. The order will come down in the morning. Congratulations. Cowan.”
Red slapped Larkin on the back with sufficient force to start him coughing and then began tousling his hair.
“There, you old killjoy!” he was shouting. “Now stop your worrying. What do you think of that?”
Larkin began a clownish Highland fling that eloquently spoke his thoughts. At last he came to rest, snapped his heels together, saluted smartly and said:
“Lieutenant Red McGee, U.S.A., I believe. How do you like that–you little shrimp?”
“Maybe we’ll be buck privates, for all you know.”