The irrepressible O’Malley’s mouth widened into a grin as Graves finished.
“You are paying the Air Service a great compliment, Graves,” he said.
Graves relaxed briefly.
“You’ve got an outfit, I know,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t trust the accomplishing one of the biggest things I’ve ever worked on to strangers if I didn’t believe it.”
Then he started hammering away again. The general got the impression of resistless tenacity about him—the feeling that until his job was done the aristocratic, meticulous Mr. Graves could never be swerved for an instant from his progress toward the goal he was endeavoring to reach.
“Can you produce two such men—and if so, how quickly, general?”
O’Malley did not answer for fully two minutes. He placed two immaculately booted and spurred feet on his desk, sunk into his chair, and thoughtfully smoked. Then he reached for the bell on his desk.
The adjutant entered and saluted.
“Get me Lieutenants Broughton and Hinkley, Evans. Tell them to report to me at once. Use every effort to get them, regardless of whether they are on the post or not.”
“Yes, sir.”