"You're talking perfect----"
"I know, but I haven't done yet. I haven't had quite as much practice in the aeroplane as you, but I've had quite enough for this job. And as for shying dynamite bombs, any ass could do that."
"I back you wouldn't find it easy to hit a mark," Bob got in.
"Perhaps not, but when the mark is a crowd of three or four hundred Afghans I ought to be kicked if I couldn't score at least an outer. Seriously, old man, this is my job. I'm not such a fool as to think it'll be pure fun; it's a desperately tough proposition, as the Yanks say; and of course you'd do it better than I could; but we can't both go, and I'm sure you're the right man to stay here. Now have your fling."
"Well, you've put me in a hole with your beastly logic," grumbled Bob. "I can't admit you're right without sort of making myself out to be a sprouting commander-in-chief! My word! It would be a fine thing to get the Major here! He'd take command, and I'd play second fiddle with the greatest pleasure in life. All right: you go, then."
"Thanks, old man. Just ring for Chunda, will you? I must have a talk with Ganda Singh."
"You'll do nothing of the sort. You'll go straight back to bed. You'll want all your nerve to-morrow, and after what you've gone through you'll be a limp rag in the morning unless you sleep. Go to bed. I'll arrange everything. You'll find everything ready for you in the morning. I think you had better take Fazl with you: in fact, you must, for you'll have quite enough to do with managing the machine without dropping bombs. Cut off!"
"All right. There's only one thing."
"What's that?"
"I hope to goodness the wind won't be blowing a hurricane in the morning."