"As though you could see anybody from this height!" he growled. "You've just gone plain balmy with joy at being back in your own country. But I'm telling you right now that if you keep it up, I'm going to quit you and go back to England even if I have to swim it. Frankly, I think I must have been a little balmy myself to have come over here with you in the first place. See your girl waiting for you? Rot! Matter of fact, I recall your telling me that you didn't have any girl."
"I haven't," Dawson said with a grin. "Only this lady is very special. She's the sweetheart of every returning American. Always waits in the same place, holding up a torch so you can find your way in. There she is, down there. See her? Over two million Yanks threw goodbye and hello kisses at her in the last war. She was born in France, but she's been Yank ever since the day she came over. Freddy, meet my very special sweetheart. Isn't she something, though?"
Pulling the English youth closer to the window, Dave Dawson pointed a finger down at the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. Freddy stared at it long and silently. Then presently he nodded and smiled at Dawson.
"No, I guess you're not so balmy as I thought," he said. "I see what you mean and I quite agree. She is, indeed, the sweetheart of all you Yank chaps. She stands for the most cherished thing in all of your great country: Liberty!"
"Yes," Dave said gravely. "And I hope and pray that before long what she stands for will extend around the world and to each of the Poles."
"Amen!" Freddy Farmer breathed softly. Then, as his young face grew hard and grim: "It will come, Dave. Maybe you, and I, and thousands of chaps like us, may not live to see it. But it will come, just as sure as there is a sun in the heavens by day, and stars by night. I'm not one of those heavy-thinking blokes who can spill out wonderful words by the yard, but ever since this blasted mess started I haven't once had even the tiniest feeling that Hitler and his murderers would win in the end. And now that the United States is in it, I simply feel that victory will be ours just that much sooner."
"Feel the same way," Dave murmured, and stared unseeing out the window. "But it's going to be a scrap, and a tough one. Those dirty Japs got the jump on us. And they're in high gear right now, while Uncle Sam is still shifting into first. But it won't be long before the old guy with the whiskers gets rolling. And when he does, Mr. Jap, and Adolf, and Muzzy the Fuzzy, you're going to catch it from all sides—and plenty! And—Hold everything! I sound like a Congressman dedicating a post office, or something. Let's change the subject. Gosh, Freddy, but you look funny in civilian clothes."
"Oh, do I?" the English youth flared up and flushed. "Well, let me tell you, my little man, you'd never take any prizes at a fashion show for men. You'd—"
"Get down off your ear, pal!" Dave stopped him with a chuckle. "I didn't mean that the way you took it. I mean that I've been so used to seeing you in uniform that it seems sort of cockeyed to see you in civies. They're a swell fit, and you'll knock the ladies of Broadway and Fifth Avenue for a loop. So don't get hot under the collar."
"Well, that's a little better!" Freddy growled. Then, with a sheepish grin: "To tell the truth, I feel just as strange as I must look. It's really a very nice suit of clothes, but I feel all out of place wearing it. That is—"