“Yes, sir.”
“You do, or you do not?”
“Double negatives bother me right much,” Hampden replied, his eyes on the English pilot and caring not a whit for court-martial now that he saw in the flesh the proof of Yancey’s report, “but I do know the rule.”
“Then observe it,” Major Cowan responded, testily. 22“Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant McGee, of the British Royal Flying Corps, who has been assigned to us as flying instructor.”
Lieutenant McGee felt that the room was surcharged with hostility, and he found himself in the position of one who is ashamed of the acts of another. Major Cowan, altogether too brusque, failed utterly to impress McGee, whose service in the Royal Flying Corps had been with a class of men who thought more of deeds than of rank and who could enjoy a care-free camaraderie without becoming careless of discipline. Discipline, after all, is never deeper than love and respect, and McGee felt somehow that Cowan was not a man to command either. McGee felt his face coloring, and tried to dispel it with a smile.
“I am glad to meet you, gentlemen,” he said, “and I want to correct the Major’s statement. I am not here as a flying instructor, in the strict sense of the word, but to give you, first hand, some of our experiences in formation flying, combat, and patrol work. I dare say you are all well trained. In fact, I have heard some rather flattering reports concerning you.”
Yancey cast a sidelong glance at his neighbor; Siddons nudged Hank Porter. Porter pressed his foot against Fouche’s boot. Not a bad fellow, this. Something like, eh?
Major Cowan was not one who could permit others 23to roll the sweets of flattery under their tongues. He must qualify it with a touch of vinegar.
“Lieutenant McGee is modest concerning his duties,” he said. “In fact, you will find all English officers becomingly modest.”
“But I am not English!” McGee corrected. “I am an American–born in America, and that’s why I have been so happy about this assignment.”