"It won't be, if you hit a tree!" Freddy cried, and grabbed for a strong hold as Dave took the next turn. "Be careful and stop playing speed demon. Five or ten minutes longer won't make any difference!"
"Will to me!" Dave laughed, and held his speed rate. "Can't wait to find out what the Major has to say to us. Gosh! And I was beginning to think—! Oh well! Everything is wonderful, now. So why bother with the past?"
"Quite!" Freddy snapped sarcastically. "Blast to the past. Just concentrate on this winding road, if you possibly can. I've got enough grey hairs, as it is."
"What do you think it'll be, Freddy?" Dave asked, ignoring his last remark. "I mean, what do you think he'll have to say to us?"
"Haven't the faintest idea," the English air ace replied. "But I have a feeling it won't be all sugar and honey. Everybody's been too deep down serious about things to suit my fancy. Particularly the Major's reference to the little extra job for us. We've been detailed little extra jobs before. Only they weren't little!"
"So what?" Dave laughed. "Wouldn't be getting the wind up, would you, pal?"
"Certainly!" Freddy threw at him. "And your gay eagerness doesn't fool me a bit. You're a little jittery inside yourself."
"And how!" Dave agreed instantly. "The heart's got a swell case of jitters, if you must know. Always like that when things are mysterious and unexplained. But war is no pink tea, hey, Freddy?"
"Not a bit of it!" the English youth replied with feeling. "Our job, though, is to do the best we can—while we can."
"Atta boy!" Dave cried, and took a hand off the wheel to press his friend's knee. "The old fight, always. You're making me feel better, now. Bring on your mysterious assignment! What do Farmer and Dawson care?"