"Oh, no," said the Adjutant. "That'll do well, Sir."
A brief astonished silence followed the C.O.'s departure, a silence broken by the excited tones of the Stunt Pilot.
"The 9.5?" he cried. "Are you going to London?"
The Adjutant lit a cigarette with some deliberation.
"Only just for forty-eight hours," he remarked.
"Forty-eight hours!" gasped the indignant Pilot; then, raising his voice to surmount the din, "Forty-eight hours' leave in London, and you've just been pouring out hot air about—"
"Leave?" interrupted the Adjutant, in pained surprise. "What d'you mean by leave? I'm going on duty."
A chorus of derisive laughter greeted the announcement. "Duty?" echoed the Stunt Pilot bitterly. "What duty?"
The Adjutant took another furl in his bath-towel.
"If you really must know," he said composedly, "I'm going to buy a vacuum-cleaner for the Mess."