"You think it's funny?" he snarled, but the blessed relief that surged through him made his voice a trifle unsteady.
"Yes," said the man, "it hits me that way."
"Something else may hit you," growled McKay, ready to embrace him with sheer joy.
"Not unless you're a Boche," retorted the man coolly. "But I guess you're Kay McKay—"
"Don't get so damned familiar with names!"
"That's right, too. I'll just call you Seventy-Six, and this young lady Seventy-Seven…. And I'm Two Hundred and Thirty."
"What else?"
"My name?"
"Certainly."
"It isn't expected—"