“Why’d he do it, Prop?” I asked, getting up from the chair.
Prop shook his head. He bummed a cigarette from me, lighted up.
“Do what?” he asked me grimly. “Come on, let’s get a bus for the field!”
* * * * *
Jinx Bride was a pretty tough gent, I’ll have to admit that. He didn’t
go out. Instead, he came out of the General Hospital at the end of a
week’s time. There was still a bandage on his head; his face bore a few
marks of his encounter. The boys at the field weren’t foolish enough to
joke about that slamming down, but it was evident to them that
Lieutenant Edward Bride still had his jinx along.
I ran into him near the north end of the deadline the morning he came
out for his first hop. He was medium-sized, with reddish-brown hair and
had a peculiar squint to his brown eyes. We shook hands, and he looked
me over as if he were sizing me up for some sort of a job that was
vacant and over which he had the big say.
“MacAndrews.” He rolled my name over his tongue, his voice rather loud,
and his eyes on mine. “Name seems familiar. Ever been in France?”