"Tops, and how!" Dave grunted, and pointed at their empty plates. "Go on and say it, pal. I can read it in your eyes."
"Say what?" Freddy demanded. "And just what can you read in my eyes, I'd like to know?"
"What you're thinking, and wishing," Dave said with a straight face. "That he'd brought along one of his official buddies."
"You still aren't making sense!" Freddy snapped. "Speak up! Get it off your blasted chest, whatever it is."
"As if you didn't know!" Dawson snorted. "If he'd brought along one of his official buddies, why then there would have been more meat ration coupons, of course. And you could have worked them for a second helping of roast beef. Don't try to kid a pal, pal! You were kind of thinking that, weren't you?"
"No, my little man," Freddy replied softly, and slowly reached for a dish of pudding he hadn't touched yet. "But would you care to have me show you what I'm thinking now?"
"Do, sweetheart!" Dave growled, and reached for his own pudding. "And you'll be combing pudding out of your hair, too. So—Sweet tripe, Freddy! Let's dive in and finish this. We're due out at Croydon Airport in a little over an hour. And we haven't packed, or paid the bill yet. And you can bet your sweet life that that Newfoundland-bound bomber isn't going to wait for us."
"Right as rain!" Freddy echoed behind a heaping spoon of pudding. "Darned decent of the Air Ministry to give us a ride by air, instead of having us make the crossing by water. A magic world, isn't it, Dave! By this time tomorrow night we'll be dining in New York City. Magic isn't the word."
"No, it's speed!" Dawson snapped. "Can the chatter, pal, and just shovel it in. And I'll match you for the check."
"No, Dave, I'll pay it."