“Well,” he said, “where do I park the body?”
Lancaster said, “Better go see the adjutant,” and the keen-eyed chap went out.
Dorman watched the retreating form. He asked, “Who’s the fresh guy?”
“Kid from Arizona,” Lancaster said. “Out in your country. His name’s Frank Luke.”
That didn’t mean anything to George Dorman. He sat down in a canvas-bottomed chair and said, “The First must be short of ships. I never heard of ferrying at night before.”
“They been catching hell, all right,” Lancaster said. “It’s being talked around even back here that the drome is in for a good bombing pretty soon.” He looked at Dorman quizzically. “Come on and take a snifter.”
“Thanks,” Dorman said. “But I’m off that stuff.”
“Hell, one snifter won’t hurt. The ships haven’t gone to the test block yet. There ain’t a chance to get ‘em off before midnight.”
Dorman shook his head.
“I just don’t wanna drink, Chick, that’s all.”