"Quite," the senior R.A.F. officer said with a nod. Then, glancing at Dawson and Farmer, "All the luck in the world, you chaps. And I need not tell you how I admire you both, and envy you, too, if you must know the truth. I'd give every one of my stripes of rank to be able to go along with you."
"Thank you, sir," Dawson said for them both. Then, with a pointed glance at the decoration ribbons under the tunic wings of the Air Vice-Marshal, he added, "And we'd like nothing better than to have you along, sir."
"See here, what about me?" Colonel Welsh snapped with a half grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Am I supposed to be an old woman, or something?"
"Just Dawson's nasty manners, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up with a straight face. "He'll never learn. But I can assure you that his words really included you both."
"And how, sir!" Dawson exclaimed hastily. "I figured you'd take that for granted."
"Well, that's a little better!" Colonel Welsh growled in mock annoyance. "But you'll never know, Dawson, how close you came to having to pay for that lunch this noon. But of course, I understand, now. So I'll let you off this time, and pay for it myself."
Dawson blew air through his lips, and went through the act of wiping beads of sweat from his brow.
"Boy, did I come close to having to wash a mess of dishes!" he breathed. "Because, if the truth must be known, I've got all of three shillings in my pocket!"
"As though that were unusual!" Freddy Farmer shot at him. "Just name the day when your pay wasn't all spent before you received it."
"Quite!" the Air Vice-Marshal broke into the conversation. "But that's a well known R.A.F. habit, of course. Well, Gentlemen, shall we disband, eh, and meet later at Simpson's, what?"