It was Dave who finally broke the silence.
“If I live out this war,” he said with a short laugh, “I’m going to set me up in the crystal ball gazing business. I should make a million the very first year. I get the strongest hunches sometimes.”
“I think I’ll go into partnership with you,” Freddy Farmer grunted. “I’m getting your habit of getting blasted hunches, myself. Just now—I had one. I mean—well, that is—”
“That there is some kind of a message for us at the hotel?” Dave asked softly. “Well, that’s just the way I feel, pal. And you know me and my hunches. You can bet on them!”
“Well, once in a while, yes,” Freddy nodded. “And I fancy that this is one of those times. What say we go up and find out, Dave? I think I’d go a little balmy just sitting here wondering. Wouldn’t you?”
“Check on that,” Dave said with a nod and a sigh, and picked up his bathrobe. “Let’s go. Know something, Freddy?”
“Several things,” the English born youth replied. “What is it now?”
“A hope of mine,” Dave told him. “A hope that there really is a message for us at the hotel. I mean—for us to go back to work. This is a swell place, and all that.... But—well, it makes me feel kind of a heel to be taking it easy here when there are so many others fighting and dying all over the world. Don’t get me wrong, Freddy. I’m not trying to act the old medal snatcher, I just—”
“I know exactly, Dave,” Freddy Farmer interrupted quietly, and flung one arm across Dawson’s shoulders. “When there’s still so blasted much to be done, it sort of gets a chap not to be doing something about it. Yes, Dave, I hope, too, that there’s a message waiting for us at the hotel. And if there isn’t—”
Freddy let the rest slide and shrugged.