Dawson looked at him with one eyebrow cocked.
"Do I suppose what?" he asked.
At that moment the waiter arrived with Freddy's second slice of pie and his pot of tea. The English youth waited until he had made his retreat.
"Do you suppose we failed horribly at the Commando school," he said, "and—and this is just a gentle way of letting us down? I mean, sort of give us a bit of leave here in New York to buck up our spirits, and then post us back to some air squadron?"
Dave didn't say anything for a moment. He thought back over the last five weeks of vigorous training that either made or broke a man.
"I don't mean to boast," he said slowly, "but if we didn't pass out of that training school with pretty fair marks, then there can't be more than a dozen or so who did. But now you've hit upon the thought that's been bothering me."
"Make that a bit clearer," Freddy said. "I don't quite follow you. What thought?"
"The Commando business," Dave replied with a little gesture. "We took the training because Colonel Welsh thought it would be a good idea. Does that mean we're Commandos from now on? Are we waiting for Commando orders? Or are we waiting for further orders from Colonel Welsh?"
"Good grief, yes!" the English youth gasped, and smiled faintly. "Fact is, though, I've been so jammed full of Commando tactics these last five weeks, that it didn't even occur to me that we might not continue along that line. Quite, Dave! Ten to one the Commando business is all behind us, and we're simply waiting for Colonel Welsh to dig us up another Air Intelligence assignment. But somehow—"
Freddy Farmer let the rest hang in mid-air, and gave a little half shake of his head.