“Yes, yes,” Judy hastened to add. “It will be a real joy.”
“And will you name the place?” Scottie begged. “I’m not so well acquainted here.”
Judy led them to a quiet place run by a native Indian chef, who had spent several years in America and who knew how to prepare Indian food as Americans liked it.
It was a jolly and delightful occasion. After some urging Scottie told with laughter and tears of his experiences with the Flying Tigers.
“Nobody Dares Touch a Flying Tiger!”
“That’s one spell in my life I’ll never forget,” he concluded. “Never! Never! It was tough, but it was glorious. When the last battle is won and the last man of that brave band is laid away like a tattered flag for keeps, we’ll be a-flyin’ and a-yarnin’ in that place where all good Indians go.
“And now,” he turned to Mary, “how about this black-robed lady who wishes you were dead?”