“Pull, my dear fellow, as the Americans say. A drag somewhere. Now he’s sitting where he can retire Red Flight to a peaceful life, and if we do bag a bandit, we’ll have to have an affidavit from the King to get credit for it.”
“How about a transfer?”
“No go, he’d have a finger in that too. In fact, my dear fellow, I applied for a transfer and got turned down, all before breakfast.”
Stan looked across at O’Malley who was on his last hot cake. He was beaming pleasantly, his eyes looking out across the room. He had paid no attention at all to the bad news.
“You seem to like it, O’Malley,” Allison growled.
“Huh?” the Irisher said with a start. Then he grinned. “’Tis a poor spot in the channel that has no Messerschmitt One-Tens poking about in the clouds.”
“And we’ll sit around warming a chair waiting for a chance at a single or a double,” Allison snapped.
“Sure, an’ I can’t be worried this mornin’,” O’Malley said and got to his feet.
“What’s got into him?” Allison asked sourly.
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” Stan said with a wide grin.