time I pick up a menu I simply imagine that all the pre-war dishes are there. And I have a lot of fun deciding just what I'll order. Do I make myself clear?"

Dawson sighed heavily, and shook his head.

"Too clear," he said sadly. "Lately I've been suspecting that you were going just a little bit screwy. Now I know! And me waiting here, polite like, while you fumbled around! What a guy!"

Dave snorted, sighed again, and crooked his finger at the waiter. The man came over to their table, and the two air aces gave their orders in accordance with the short list of items on the menu.

"It will be wonderful when this war is over!" Freddy Farmer murmured as the waiter walked away. "Just think, Dave! Just think of being able to step into a restaurant and ordering anything that strikes your fancy."

"Which would be everything in the place, as far as you're concerned!" Dawson laughed at him. "For a skinny guy, I never saw the beat of how you can store food away. It scares me at times, too. I have dreams that you've eaten so much that you can't even fit into one of the new Lancaster bombers. But skip it, pal. For two long months you and I can do any darn thing we want. And back in the little old U. S. A. there are plenty of things for us to do. I'll really show you the States this time! And how!"

The English youth half smiled, and nodded.

"Yes, quite," he grunted. "But next leave we get we're going to spend here in England. And another thing, my boy! Not that I actually believe you are crooked, you know. However—well, I'm jolly well going to get a little practice tossing coins before I have another go at it with you. And that's a fact, too!"

"So help me, pal, it was strictly on the up and up," Dave said as he made a little cross with his finger over his heart. "And it was the best of two out of three, too. I was just lucky, kid. But look, Freddy. If you really and truly want to—"

"Not at all, Dave!" the English youth cut in quickly. "Don't mind me, old thing. I always feel a little bad when I leave England, if only for a day or two. No. You won the coin toss, and so we'll spend our leave in the U. S. Besides, we're supposed to make some speeches to help sell War Bonds, you know. And speaking of that, do you know something, Dave?"

"What? But I think I can guess, Freddy. As a speech maker I'm a swell coal truck driver."

"Me, too!" Freddy echoed with a grimace. "Good grief! I'd rather face a flight of Messerschmitts than a speaker's audience. I know I'll be a terrible flip, as you call it."

"It's flop, pal," Dawson chuckled. "And that'll be two of us. Between you, me, and the gate post, I'll be tickled silly if something happens to make this lecture tour in the States fall through. I don't feel happy about it, at all. Just the same, though, if it will sell some War Bonds, then we sure can't let them down. And it will give you a swell look at Uncle Sam's home grounds."

"Yes, there's that part of it," Freddy Farmer murmured with a nod. "It's little enough for us to do, and—"

The English youth suddenly stopped dead with his mouth hanging open. Dave, looking at him, saw his eyes come out like marbles on the ends of sticks. And for a split second he thought his pal had been stricken ill. Then as he turned his head and looked in the direction of Farmer's stare, his own jaw sagged, and his own eyes popped out in dumbfounded amazement.

The reason was the approach of the waiter with their orders. However, what the man set before them wasn't even close to what they had ordered. In fact, it was almost as though the Good Fairy had waved her magic wand and changed the Hotel Savoy dining-room into a little bit of another world. In short, each of them was served with a generous helping of red, juicy roast beef! There were also mashed potatoes, and creamed corn, and peas. And, yes, thick brown gravy, too!

For a long moment both of them sat speechless for fear that a single sound would break the spell, and that all that was set before them would disappear in thin air. Eventually, though, Dawson summoned the courage to look up into the waiter's grinning face, and speak.

"My heart is bleeding, but I'm afraid you've made a mistake," he said with a gigantic effort. "We didn't order this. Is there some rich Indian Rajah staying at the hotel? And he brought along his own supply of food, huh?"

The waiter laughed, and shook his head.

"Hardly, sir," he said. "The officials would have taken it from the blighter before he left the ship, I fancy. Only them that has the ration meat coupons can get it. And that goes for Royalty as well as the likes of me."

"But—but, I say!" Freddy Farmer stammered out, and made a helpless gesture with his hands. "We used up our last meat ration coupons yesterday, you know."

"This is a gift, sir," the waiter said. "From the gentleman at the next table. He gave me all of his meat coupons, he did, and told me to serve you the best. And the best it is, I guarantee, too!"

If Dave and Freddy had kept their eyes on the waiter's face, they would have seen him unconsciously lick his lips, and an envious look creep into his eyes. However, they had both turned as one man and were staring at the next table. There, dressed in a quiet but Bond Street-tailored business suit, sat a short and slightly rotund Chinese gentleman. He met their collective stare, smiled broadly, and bobbed his head up and down. And then, when neither of the air aces were able to speak, he got up from his table, came over to theirs and bowed gravely.

"Would you do me the honor, Gentlemen?" he said in perfect English. "I confess that my ears overheard a bit of your conversation, and as I had several unused meat ration coupons, I thought that perhaps you two would accept. But permit me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Soo Wong Kai."

Still not quite sure that they had not been dumped down into a little corner of fairyland, Dave and Freddy pushed back their chairs and stood up.

"There aren't the words to thank you, Mr. Kai." Dave smiled, and extended his hand. "I am Captain Dawson, and my friend, here, is Captain Farmer."

"Your introductions were unnecessary, Captain," the Chinese said with a smile, and shook hands with them both. "You two famous men of the air are known to millions, you know. When I return to China, this thrusting of myself into your acquaintance will be one of my happiest memories. But if I might make a suggestion—the roast beef is not half so savory when it is cold. I beg of you, please seat yourselves, Captains, and give me the great happiness of eating my humble offering."

"On condition that you have the waiter bring your meal over here, sir, and join us," Freddy Farmer said politely. "And may I ask, sir? You are the Mr. Kai of the Chinese Embassy here, are you not?"

"You are absolutely correct," the other smiled, and signalled to the waiter to transfer his meal to their table. "Quite correct and, indeed, kind. We of China do not like to take our meals alone. And it is the same when we are in foreign lands, too. So I must thank you from the bottom of my heart for your generous hospitality."

"Well, to be truthful, sir," Dawson chuckled, "the pleasure really is all ours. You'd be surprised how sick Freddy and I get of hearing each other sound off."

"Eh?" the English youth grunted, and shot Dave a hostile look. "Sound off, you say?"

Soo Wong Kai laughed softly and leaned toward Freddy.

"The American way of saying, throwing the bull, Captain Farmer," he said. "Or, as you English would have it, swinging the gate. In China we have an expression which, when translated, means, counting the locusts. There are billions and billions of locusts in China, you see. So to say that one is counting the locusts is to mean that one is simply talking to hear oneself. Or sounding off. Or throwing the bull. Or swinging the gate. You see?"

"I've got a hunch you've kind of been around here and there, eh, Mr. Kai?" Dave grinned at him. "And—oh, my