Colonel Brent leaned back and interrogated the ceiling with his eyes. Then he leaned forward and brought his gaze to bear on Billy.
“Boy,” he said, “you’ve been having a hell of a time, haven’t you? Now listen to me. I’ve been through all this, too. Perhaps I wasn’t hit so badly, perhaps I was. But never mind. It was bad. Anyway, the thing that’s worrying you killed my wife, Jennie’s mother, by inches. At least, that’s what I think. Perhaps it is killing Jennie now. We may as well face the possibility. If Jennie lives we’ll let her decide whether I approve your resignation or not. There’s time enough for that. But supposing⸺”
He paused and gulped painfully. Then he went on.
“Well, let that be. Put it this way. Without somebody like Jennie, where would you be if you left the service? Would you have anything remaining to live for? Flying was all your life until you and Jennie came to—an understanding. If—just for instance, mind—you had to do without Jennie, flying would be all your life once more. Isn’t that about the way of it?”
“No, sir. I’ll never touch a stick again. Not after yesterday. When I think of Jennie’s face—brrr-r-r!”
The colonel considered at length.
“Very well, son,” he decided. “I’ll approve this. Maybe your case is worse than I thought.”
He drew the inclosure from the envelope. Billy had already typed the indorsement of approval for his signature. The colonel read it over slowly, shook his head dubiously, and signed.
“There you are,” he said and tossed the document in the outgoing-mail basket. “No more engines, no more ships, no more chasing clouds.”
“And no more crashes!” said Billy fervently. “Amen, and thank you, sir. I’m not happy about it. It’s a hard thing to do. It’ll take me a long time to get used to being a kiwi. But I’ll have Jennie—if she’ll have me now. And if she won’t, well, it’s for her good, anyway.”