Tommy took an envelope addressed to him, signed for it and opened it with apprehension. This was well justified, for the letter told him to assume command of the 946th Aero Squadron upon its arrival at the field. He showed it to Fat and Long John, who once more burst into laughter.
“Can you imagine the lucky little stiff?” John inquired of the world in general. “Here’s a guy knows so little about the Army that he doesn’t even know an M.P. when he sees one, and here he gets command of a squadron. You’ll get out of reveille and standing morning formation on that, and have an orderly to shine your boots for you. You can have them build off a separate room for you in their barrack with a stove in it. Pretty soft for a squadron commander, I’ll say.”
“But what will I command them to do?” Tommy asked anxiously.
“Let Old Krause and the adjutant worry about that,” returned John. “They’ll find plenty of commands for you. But turn everything over to your top sergeant and make him do it. Tell him, ‘Look here, Sergeant, if you won’t bother me, I won’t bother you.’ Then all you have to do is look wise and sign the papers that the sergeant-major or staff sergeant bring you, and keep out of Krause’s way.”
When the squadron arrived Tommy followed John’s half joking advice and found that it succeeded admirably. The men partitioned off one end of the barrack after they got it up, and there made an office for the sergeant-major and one for Tommy, in which he set up a G. M. cot. Of course, this office had to have a stove, and so it served splendidly for quiet games of stud which continued long after lights were out in the quarters of the flying lieutenants less fortunate than Tommy and his cronies. And he got along well in his command by keeping out of sight, and signing unquestioningly the morning reports, rosters, ration reports and whatnots his sergeants brought him.
But one morning the sergeant-major approached him with a troubled face.
“I don’t know what to do about this, Lieutenant,” he said, holding out a letter. “I sent it to the adjutant three times and he always sends it back marked ‘Incorrect.’ You see, they have held up Corporal Letar’s pay on account of a tailors’ bill against him for twenty-five cents for repairing his breeches at Shenannigan Field, Texas. Now here is his service record, and it shows a deduction of a quarter made there in July for fixing his breeches, and he says that’s the only time he ever had it done, but they’ve been holding up his pay for three months.”
“Holding up his pay, have they?” said Tommy angrily. “Sent the letter back three times? We’ll see about that. I’ll take it up to the adjutant myself.”
He entered the adjutant’s office and spoke loudly: