The Adjutant-General wrinkled his brow studiously and said: “I think maybe I better get Klepper down from Fort Worth to help you.”
“Naw,” said Bender, shaking his head; “you leave Klep be. I'll take a crack at it by myself. If I need help I'll holler.”
“Well—” said the Adjutant-General, “all right. But I want results. I want the place mopped up.”
“I'll mop 'er up,” Bender said. “I'll get right over there tomorrow.”
“No, you won't,” his superior said quickly. “You have lunch with me and I'll put you on the train. There's a 1:15 train out for Amarillo that makes connections. I'll take you myself—I want to know you're on it.”
Every time Tom Bender was turned loose in Austin he hit the high spots. He didn't get in often but when he did he took all they had and yelled for more.
“Don't rush me,” he said, grinning. “I just got here. I know a lot of people here. I got to say hello to my friends.”
The Adjutant-General frowned through a geyser of smoke.
“Tom,” he said slowly, “you're a hell of a good man but the next time you get tight and wake up in Oklahoma City I'm going to kick you off the staff if I get impeached for it.”
Bender grinned boyishly and slanted his head with his left eye closed from the thin finger of smoke that pried at it.