Dave Dawson with the Flying Tigers

by Robert Sidney Bowen

"It's all right, don't worry," the colonel said quietly.

Dawson didn't hesitate any more after that. He had been given an order by a superior officer, and there wasn't anything he could do but obey. So he reached inside his tunic, took out the wrinkled and slightly dirtied envelope and handed it over.

"The mailman fell in a mud puddle, sir," he said in a half-hearted attempt at humor. "Sorry."

Colonel Welsh looked at him and grinned. Then as both Freddy Farmer and Dawson stared pop-eyed, he ripped open the flap of the envelope and took a quick look inside. He smiled again, and nodded, and stuck the envelope in his own inside tunic pocket.

"Fine, boys, fine!" he grunted. "This may mean a lot of changes in this war. But let's forget the war. I guess you haven't heard that story that's going the rounds about the private and the sergeant of the guard? It's very funny."

The Chief of U. S. Intelligence made a little gesture with one hand and hitched his chair closer to the table. Then he casually took a cigar from his pocket, and took his own sweet time about lighting it up. And then, just as Dawson was about to explode in confusion, he heard the colonel's low voice carry to him through the cloud of cigar smoke.

"Act as though this one were a howl," he said. "But keep your ears open, and listen carefully. You, Dawson! When I pick up my dessert spoon, let your napkin fall down under the table. Go down after it, and when you get down you'll see another envelope held between my knees. Snake it into your napkin and sit up again. And when you get the chance slip that envelope into your pocket. All right. Here goes with the story. Show lots of interest, and grin and chuckle!"

With that the colonel paused a moment, and then started in on a long drawn out story about a private and a sergeant of the guard. But Dave only heard every other word, if that many. His brain was spinning like a top, and a crazy, cockeyed jumble of thoughts were having a wonderful time playing leap frog. And all the time he watched to see when Colonel Welsh would pick up his dessert spoon. What in thunder was all this about? What other envelope? And why was the Colonel being so cagey about how he was to get it? Holy smoke! Hadn't he just handed Secretary Hull's envelope across the table? Why should the colonel get fancy and make him do tricks to get another envelope he held between his knees? Or was it that something very heavy had dropped down on the Intelligence Chief's head since their last meeting, and the man had gone just a little screwy?

Dawson had no idea, and it was utterly useless even to try to guess. His war experience had taught him to try to take things in stride, and expect 'most anything, and 'most everything. The minute you stopped to figure out the whys and wherefores of things that happened in this crazy war, you were sunk. And so Dawson half listened to the long drawn out story, grinned or chuckled in what he hoped were the right places, and kept half an eye on Colonel Welsh's dessert spoon.

And then, suddenly, the senior officer picked it up and dipped it into the untouched dish of ice cream that was before him. A split second later Dawson gave his napkin a shove so that it dropped off his knees and down under the table onto the floor.