“Who’s the man?” Lefty bit, not the least conscious of the fact that Panama was referring to him.
“Who?” Panama repeated, assuming an impatient and disappointed air. “Why, of all the frozen-skulled, lame-brained choice assortment of prize boobs, they had to wish you on me!”
Lefty looked at Williams with questioning eyes, then seeing that the other man was in earnest, struggled for words as he ran to grasp the sergeant’s hands, wringing them furiously and fairly shouting his gratitude.
“You mean, I’m going to Nicaragua with you? Oh, Gee, Panama—you don’t know what that means to me! Honest—say, I’m so tickled I just——”
“Aw, apple sauce!” Panama interrupted, “I said you’re going. Ain’t that enough? What do you want to do—sing a mammy song about it?”
“But I want to thank you for what you’ve done for me!” the boy persisted.
“Don’t thank me. I ain’t had nothin’ to do with it. If I had my way, you’d have gone back to a ship!”
A smile of understanding crept across Lefty’s happy face. He knew well enough that Panama didn’t mean a word of what he had just said.
“Well, why don’t you tell them you don’t want me with you?”
“It’s too late now. I can’t get another man ready in time,” Panama lied beautifully. “Now stop askin’ silly questions and get that plane ready. We got to leave in the mornin’!”