"I can manage it, yes," the English youth said and got slowly up on his feet. "But where do you expect to navigate to?"
"To that old saw-horse in the corner for one thing," Dave said, pointing. "We'll carry it over under the window, there, and take a look outside. I'm curious to get a look at the scenery around here."
"Wait, Dave!" Freddy cried as the Yank started over toward the saw-horse in the corner. "Are you crazy?"
Dave stopped and turned to look at his pal.
"No more than usual," he said. "What's eating you, though?"
"Never trust a Nazi!" Freddy said sharply. "Good grief, haven't you learned that, yet?"
"Huh?" Dave echoed with a frown. "Hey, what the heck are you going to do? Pole vault through the window? It's too small, fellow. You'd never make it."
Freddy Farmer had picked up a weather rusted old pitch fork on the stable floor. He pulled off his helmet and hung it over the prongs of the fork. Then as Dave stared wide eyed he walked over to the window and pushed the helmet up above the window sill level. A split second later there came the crack of a high powered rifle from somewhere outside, and a metallic wasp whined in through the window opening and went plunk into a sturdy wall stud on the far side of the stable.
Freddy lowered the pitch fork and looked silently at Dave. The Yank swallowed hard and grinned sheepishly.
"Like I've always said," he murmured, "you're the one guy I like to have around all the time. Thanks, pal. That makes me the dumb bunny."