“Are you an angel?” someone exclaimed. This called for one more laugh.
“Well, not quite,” Gale replied when the laugh was over. “I sit in a box among the rocks and watch for naughty Jap planes that might bomb you.”
“With a spyglass?” One boy was impressed.
“With radar. That’s lots better,” Gale explained. “I can spot them two hundred miles away. I send in a report and our fighters go out to meet them. We had a grand scrap today.”
“Beat the livin’ daylights out o’ ’em? Huh?” said a voice.
“That’s what we did. It was grand, only—” Gale hesitated. “Only I’m afraid the Japs got one of my friends, Jimmie Nightingale. He was a Flying Tiger.”
“Jimmie Nightingale!” a dark eyed youth exclaimed. “He’s from my home town, and no kidding. He’s one swell guy. But say, sister, if you think any dirty Jap got Jimmie you’ve got one more guess coming, believe me!”
And so amid laughter, vague fears and words of cheer the three girls rode home to their Secret Forest with one little corner of the grandest army the world has ever known.
When at the edge of the forest the truck once again came to a halt, the tired trio tumbled out amid the low cheers of their hosts, and raced away to their tent where they drowned the day’s adventures in a batch of sleep.
And the morrow was another day.