'There were a dozen or more of the air lads in the room and cigarette
smoke tinged the air. Towards Erwin, now recovered after nearly a
three week's "lay-off" on account of his burns and other wounds, there
was a general rush of friendly hands and voices.

"Oh, you bully l'ill boy! If I hadn't been kept so busy would have
gone round to jolly you up a bit. But I kept hearin' from you all the
same."

This from Milton, or "Milt" Finzer, a Louisville lad, now in the Royal
Flying Corps for more than a year. "Don't it seem wallopin' to see you
in the clubroom again!"

"Orry, you stale mutt," this from an Americanized Pole, without a trace
of foreign accent, "I'm too glad to see you to talk much about it.
When we bombers got back from the raid that night and neither you nor
Lafe had showed up, I felt bad enough. Later when Lafe came in with a
German plane and a half dead Boche inside, we felt better. But we
missed you, Orry."

"Did you really and truly miss me?" Erwin asked, this not in a spirit
of doubt or incredulity, but only to hear his friend reemphasize it.
One likes at times to have welcome truisms reechoed over again. It is
human nature I suppose.

"Look here, Lex Brodno, you're a Pole --"

"Don't spring that on me again, even in joke I am an American, it my
folks did come over from Warsaw."