"Say, maybe you've got something there, pal!" Dave said with a laugh. "That's what they've been doing!"
"Eh?" the English youth echoed. "What have they been doing?"
"Counting the knives and forks and spoons, as the waiter put them in front of you!" Dave shot at him. "I bet you a buck they search you before you leave."
"Well, they'd certainly—!" Freddy gasped before he caught himself. "Blast your ears, Dave! You made me fall right into that one. Right you are! My turn will come, my good fellow. Seriously speaking, though, have they really been giving us more than usual notice?"
"I'd call it that," Dave said with a shrug. "But maybe my imagination's going a little bit haywire tonight. No, not that, exactly. I mean, waiting for orders makes me think all kinds of things. Darn it all, the picture just isn't complete, if you get what I mean."
Freddy Farmer shook his head and looked very grave.
"I'm afraid I don't, old chap," he said. "Something bothering you that I don't know anything about?"
"Nope," Dawson said. "Nothing that you don't know about. It's the set-up we're in now. Five weeks ago we volunteered to take the Commando training course. Colonel Welsh, Chief of all U. S. Intelligence, thought it would be a good idea if we took it. So we did. So we completed training yesterday. So we came down here to New York on leave until orders should arrive. But we had to say where we'd be stopping. Okay. So far, so good. But how long do we stay here? What happens next? What orders are we going to receive? And when? And how will they come to us? See what I mean? It's all hanging in the air. Nothing definite. Heck! We might be at a movie when a phone call came through from Colonel Welsh or somebody, and we wouldn't be here. I mean, it strikes me that we should have been told to report to somebody every day to see if our orders were ready. But—"
Dave let the rest slide, and gestured helplessly. Freddy nodded slowly, and pursed his lips.
"You're quite right, Dave," he murmured, and frowned. "It does seem a bit queer, when you come to think of it. I—Good grief! Do you suppose, Dave?"