“Who, me?” Dawson chuckled. “Wait for praise from a jealous guy like you? And get it maybe when my beard is way down to here, and I’m in a wheel chair? Not a chance! But thanks for them kind words, pal! After all, it was just a hunch. I could have been wrong.”
“Not a bit of it!” Freddy cried, and then grinned. “I knew definitely that you were right, because, you see, I suspected those phone lines being tapped long before you even thought of it. I knew how pleased you’d be to bring it up, so I simply remained silent. That’s how it really was, old thing.”
“Okay, okay!” Dave groaned, and gave a sad shake of his head. “We’re both a couple of very wonderful guys. Let’s leave it like that, huh?”
“Oh, quite!” Freddy said, and then, giving his right hand a snap wave, he added, “And now, my good man, stop wasting Government high octane. Take me to my destination, and be quick about it, will you? I’ve much more important things to do than sit here chitchatting with the likes of you—Hey, there!”
When Freddy shouted out the last he was upside down and hanging on his safety harness, and clutching at the sides of the cockpit for support. Grinning back at him like an ape, Dave whipped the Vultee back onto even keel and banked southeast again.
“Quite, quite, my lord!” he chirped. “Lovely weather for flying, isn’t it? The air as smooth as a mill pond. Oh, yes, yes, and pip-pip, old tin of fruit!”
Freddy Farmer was unable to make any reply. He was still struggling to get back his breath, and swallow his heart into place.