The orderly returned with a tray which O'Malley eyed hopefully. The O.C. lifted a cloth from his luncheon. The orderly carried a plate to O'Malley and handed him a fork. O'Malley waved the fork aside and scooped the pie off the plate. Sadly, he inspected it. It was blueberry, the same as his mess was supplying. Out of the side of his mouth he said:
"Ah well, it will do, but I thought it might be the O.C. ate at a different mess."
"You boys will report to headquarters at Croydon at once." He looked at O'Malley and a startled expression came over his face. The Irisher's pie had disappeared.
"Yes, sir," Allison said and got to his feet.
The O.C. got to his feet and his wintry face cracked into a thin smile as he shook hands with each of the boys.
"This is quite a war and we have to hit as hard as we can and all pull together. They need you more at Croydon than I do here. Good luck to you."
The three snapped salutes and faced about. They hurried out of the building and across the square. Within a half-hour they were packed and ready for the car that was to take them to their new home.
"I'm not sorry saying good-by to those bloated balloons," Allison said as he looked up toward the south.
"I'm glad I'm leaving. It will save me punching a fellow officer in the jaw," Stan said grimly.
"There won't be anything excitin' goin' on over there," O'Malley said sourly.