Lefty walked back to his chair and followed out the girl’s wishes in mute obedience, just as the buzzer from the major’s office startled them both. Elinor rose and walked to the door bearing the shingle of the Senior Medical Officer. As her hand fell upon the brass knob, she turned for a fleeting moment and cast a warm, well-wishing smile in Lefty’s direction that seemed to strengthen the boy’s self-confidence. When Elinor entered the private office of the Senior M.O., she found her superior, a genial, old four striper, with laughing gray eyes, seated before his desk, surrounded by the Junior Medical Officer and two other aides. From the drift of the conversation, the girl grasped the fact that these men had been discussing Lefty’s possibilities and, as yet, had not reached a definite agreement. “No, Doctor, I agree with the flight sergeant in Los Angeles,” the major announced. “Your argument is well founded, but simply because a man runs backward in a football game is no sign that he will continue to run backward for the rest of his life.” The Junior Medical Officer reached for a cigarette, lighted it and walked toward the window, paying no attention to Elinor who stood by the door, taking in their words with surprising eagerness. “I grant you are right, sir,” the Junior M.O. conceded, “but the man is inclined toward over-anxiety. Is it safe to pass such a person for flying instructions?” The major smiled broadly as his eyes twinkled with tolerance and self-assuredness. “It has been my experience that overanxious men such as Phelps make good flying material. When they do go forward, they usually accomplish great things. Admiral Dewey was that type: Impressionable, nervous and quick to act without thinking. Mark my word, this boy is the kind the government will either award a Congressional Medal or else bury in Arlington.” The two officers standing over the major’s chair looked at each other and shook their heads, signifying their views were in harmony with those of the Senior Medical Officer, while the Junior M.O., still gazing out of the window, merely shrugged his shoulders as a sign of complete indifference. “Miss Martin,” the major announced, handing Elinor a health record, “we have passed this man Phelps, Have him report to the Commanding Officer.” “Yes, sir!” she replied coolly, though her heart beat furiously for joy and she found it difficult to control her emotions. In the outer office, Lefty was still pacing up and down the floor, stopping every few seconds to cast his eyes in the direction of the white-tile clock that hung on the wall. As the door leading from the major’s office opened slightly, the boy hurried to his chair and sat down, attempting to appear indifferent to whatever tidings Elinor might bring. Entering the room, Elinor walked to her desk without speaking. Not the least bit blind to Lefty’s sham indifference, she was tempted to prolong his anxiety by withholding the happy information.