"Oh, do I?" the English youth flared up and flushed. "Well, let me tell you, my little man, you'd never take any prizes at a fashion show for men. You'd--" "Get down off your ear, pal!" Dave stopped him with a chuckle. "I didn't mean that the way you took it. I mean that I've been so used to seeing you in uniform that it seems sort of cockeyed to see you in civies. They're a swell fit, and you'll knock the ladies of Broadway and Fifth Avenue for a loop. So don't get hot under the collar." "Well, that's a little better!" Freddy growled. Then, with a sheepish grin: "To tell the truth, I feel just as strange as I must look. It's really a very nice suit of clothes, but I feel all out of place wearing it. That is--" "I know what you mean," Dave chuckled. "Feel that way, too. As if a Wing Commander, or somebody, were liable to pop up out of nowhere and bawl the pants off me for not being dressed for a rush take-off and a scramble. Well, anyway, never a dull moment for us, hey, Freddy?" The English youth laughed and shook his head, then ran a fingertip along the bottom of the window and furrowed his brows in a puzzled scowl. "No, never a dull moment," he said. "But I wish that some of those moments could be explained to us now and then. I--well, I don't mean anything against America, Dave. And I'm certainly willing and anxious to go wherever I'm ordered. But--well, you've got oodles and oodles of pukka pilots over here. Why should we be sent over here to instruct? After the Singapore business, why were we recalled to England and then sent out here? Why not to some other Front? Russia, or Libya, or right where we were in the Far East?"[1] [Footnote 1: _Dave Dawson At Singapore._] "_Instruct?_" Dave echoed sharply, and gave his pal a keen look. "What do you mean, instruct? Were you told something I wasn't told? Holy tripe! If they make a darned instructor out of me, I'll wreck every ship until they realize I'm no good at that sort of thing. Instruct? Why, doggone it, I--" "I say, don't go sailing off your topper!" Freddy cried in alarm. "Nobody told me anything. I simply said instruct, because I'm blessed if I can think of any other reason why the Air Ministry should send us over here." "Instruct!" Dave groaned and made a face. "Gosh! Have you spoiled my homecoming by bringing that up. But, heck, Freddy! You must be all wet on that idea. Why ship us halfway around the world to teach Yank fledglings how to fly? That doesn't make sense. Why not at least send us straight to Canada?" Freddy Farmer pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. But there was a very impish look in his eyes that Dave missed completely. "Well, of course you're very famous," Farmer murmured. "You have quite a record for bringing down Nazi planes. British ones, too. Crashes, and rotten landings, you know. Come to think of it, perhaps it's because of those crashes."