"Well, look at all these other pilots here," Dave replied. "Must be he doesn't think we're so hot any more, and is going to give us plenty of help on the next job—whatever it is."
"Man! How some people hate themselves!" Freddy Farmer snorted. "But I wonder what's up; what he has up his sleeve?"
"Well, there's one way to find out, I guess," Dave grunted, and started to move. "Get into line, here, and ask him when it comes our turn."
As Dave and Freddy were the last two to enter the room, and were therefore at the end of the line, the room was pretty well cleared of pilots when they reached the desk. Colonel Welsh was bent over a list of names and didn't look up.
"Name, rank, and former unit?" he asked mechanically.
"Dawson, sir. Captain. Returned from special assignment in China."
Colonel Welsh stiffened, let his pencil drop, and looked up quickly. A broad smile of welcome lighted up his thin, sun-bronzed face. He didn't bother to reply to their salutes. He simply put out his hand.
"So you made it, Dawson, and you, too, Farmer?" he said. "Good! I've been worrying you wouldn't get under the wire. How are you?"
"Fine, sir," Dave grinned as he shook hands. "And sort of curious, of course."
"Oh, quite, sir," Freddy echoed, and extended his hand. "And I fancy Dawson has expressed it for both of us."