"Don't bother asking me," Freddy replied, "because I'm all for the idea. But there's one thing I think we'd better check, Dave, just in case we don't make it together."
"Shoot, pal," Dawson said instantly. "What's on your mind?"
"The approximate location of Admiral Jackson's force," the English youth replied at once. "I think we'd better agree where it is, or at least where we think it is. You see what I mean?"
Dawson nodded, and started to speak, but at that moment he experienced a crazy, daffy feeling. He felt as though there were a third person in the room, and as if that third person were listening to everything that was said, and—and chuckling up his sleeve.
"I don't think we have to worry about that, kid," Dawson replied. "I think we both know just about where Admiral Jackson's force should be. The big idea is, can we grab a plane and scram away from this tub? In other words, are you game, Freddy?"
The English youth didn't reply at once. He just stared at Dawson, and smouldering fires glowed in his eyes.
"And to use a thoroughly Yank expression," he eventually said, tight-lipped, "what do you think, eh?"
Dave grinned, and nodded happily.
"Okay, kid," he said, "I was only asking. Well—what are we waiting for, huh?"
The English-born air ace seemed to hesitate a brief moment, and then he smiled and nodded.