"I'm a thinkin' you'd best head the Moon Flight in the right direction when the spalpeens come over again."
The clicking of Garret's heels was the only sound in the room. He marched out without a word. Everyone looked about uneasily. Such talk to a Squadron Leader was unheard of. Any other commander would have had O'Malley's hide off in a minute and draped all over the place. The very fact that the Irishman had gotten away with it had a depressing effect upon the fliers. Allison broke the spell. He barged over to O'Malley and shoved out his hand.
"Shake, Irisher," he said.
Judd, McCumber, and Kelley, all men who had belonged to the first spread Stan had been with, strolled over and a little group formed around O'Malley. Judd squinted up at the lank Irishman. He was a short, chubby-faced youngster of nineteen. His face was beaming happily.
"I'd never had the courage to talk like that to a Squadron Leader. I just went into a funk when he soaped me."
O'Malley squinted down at Judd. "'Tis with me own eyes I saw you cut the fire of three Messers, me bye. Don't you be blatherin' me about courage."
Judd flushed. He was all right when he was up there by himself, but he was bashful in a crowd. McCumber looked across at Allison.
"Red Flight should get a break after this," he said meaningly.
Allison grinned wolfishly. "Really, now, Mac, Garret knows every boy in Moon Flight loves him."
Kelley had not spoken nor had he laughed with the others. "He'd better stay out of my circle. I have folks living out beyond Kensington Gardens."