As they rounded a life raft someone blinked a faint light upon them. “Oh! It’s you, Jack?” It was the Commander who spoke. He was off for a cup of coffee.
“Ay, ay, sir.” Jack grinned.
“Got a violin?” The Commander halted. “Weren’t you playing back there on the deck?”
“I’m afraid I was, sir,” Jack admitted. “Trying to play, I mean. You see, sir, I haven’t touched a violin in months. It—well—it didn’t seem to fit in with my program. You see, sir, I really worked at my fiddling from the time I was eight. Then—well, you know.”
“Sure, I know. The war came along. And you went all out for Uncle Sam.”
“Something like that, sir,” Jack agreed.
“That’s the proper spirit,” the Commander approved. “But let me tell you something, son. You’ll be a better flier longer if you go back to that violin for an hour or two every day.”
“What do you mean, sir?” The boy voiced his surprise.
“Ever draw a string tight and leave it for a long time?” the Commander asked.
“Sure did, sir.”