“What do you want, stupid?” the sergeant snapped at the dog robber.
“Major Harding requests that you take off at once on a night flight to locate some enemy camp fires,” the orderly explained.
Panama jumped up and slapped the astonished messenger on the back. “You tell the Old Man that it’s Okay with me, kid! I’ll make ten flights if he wants me to!”
As the sergeant started to get into his flying togs, the orderly exited. Once more alone, Panama turned to Lefty again, “You wouldn’t listen, eh? Well, you old stew, you don’t have to! I’ll tell the propeller. I can always talk to that old prop; in fact, I might tell the whole, darn, cockeyed world!”
By this time, he was in his togs, searching about to make certain that he hadn’t forgotten anything.
After picking up his cigarettes, he ran to the front of the tent, stopping to look back at Lefty’s motionless form still sprawled in the same position on the cot. A happy smile crossed the sergeant’s face and he crossed to where the boy lay asleep. Bending over him, he jabbed his elbow into Lefty’s ribs and whispered again, “Elinor kissed me, you mug!”
CHAPTER XV
A short time after Reveille the following morning, Panama’s plane taxied along the ground and was met by a group of curious ground men.
When the ship came to a stop, the flying sergeant crawled out of the cockpit with much difficulty, stiff and sore from his all-night flight, the purpose of which had since proved to be a futile escapade.
“Didn’t see a camp fire all night,” he announced to the group of men gathered about the plane.