“So you are teacher’s pet from now on?”
“Search me, but I still don’t think he likes me,” Stan said.
“He’s about to collar O’Malley.” Allison chuckled. “I’d give a new shilling to hear what that Irishman tells him.”
It happened they were near enough, because O’Malley bawled out what he had to say so loudly it could have been heard out on the field. Garret had halted and was smilingly giving O’Malley the glad hand. He stepped back a pace and his face flushed as the Irisher cut loose.
“Sure, an’ ye can save yer blarney!” O’Malley roared. “I’d as soon hang one on that hooked beak of yours as to be after lookin’ at ye!”
Garret backed up a step and lifted one hand. Stan and Allison could not hear what he said, but the officers near the pair were openly grinning. O’Malley loosed one more blast and his words brought chill, brittle silence to the room.
“I’m a thinkin’ you’d best head the Moon Flight in the right direction when the spalpeens come over again.”
The clicking of Garret’s heels was the only sound in the room. He marched out without a word. Everyone looked about uneasily. Such talk to a Squadron Leader was unheard of. Any other commander would have had O’Malley’s hide off in a minute and draped all over the place. The very fact that the Irishman had gotten away with it had a depressing effect upon the fliers. Allison broke the spell. He barged over to O’Malley and shoved out his hand.
“Shake, Irisher,” he said.
Judd, McCumber, and Kelley, all men who had belonged to the first spread Stan had been with, strolled over and a little group formed around O’Malley. Judd squinted up at the lank Irishman. He was a short, chubby-faced youngster of nineteen. His face was beaming happily.