“Detain this man,” he commanded crisply, “until further orders.  If he is hungry, feed him; and see that he has a decent place to sleep.  The petty officers’ quarters will do.”

He watched the perturbed John Ivan Jewel depart under guard, and his eyes were not half so stern as his tone had been.  Then he reached for his desk ’phone and called up the repair shop.

“Run that Thunder Bird plane into the shop and repair it to-night,” he commanded.  “You will probably need to shift motors, but preserve the present appearance of the plane absolutely.  It must be ready to fly at sunrise.”

Then, being all alone where he could afford to be just a human being, he grinned to himself, “So-ome boy,” he chuckled.  “Hope he doesn’t lose any sleep to-night.  So-ome boy.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE THUNDER BIRD’S LAST FLIGHT FOR JOHNNY

Over North Island the high, clear notes of the bugle sounding reveille woke Johnny.  Immediately afterward a guard appeared to take him in charge, from which Johnny gathered that he was still being “detained.”  He did not want to be detained, and he did not feel that they had any right to detain him.  He flopped over and pulled the blankets over his ears.

“Here, you get up.  Captain wants you brought before him right after chow, and that’s coming along soon as you can get into your pants.  You better be steppin’.”

“Aw, what’s he want to see me for?” Johnny growled.  It would be much pleasanter to go back to his dream of Mary V.

“Why, to shoot you, stupid.  Whadda yuh think?”

“I’d hate to tell yuh right to your face, but at that I may force myself to it if you hang around long enough,” Johnny retorted, getting into his clothes hurriedly, for the morning was chill and bleak.  “Where’s that chuck you was talking about?  Say, good golly, but you’re a sorry looking bird.  I’m sure glad I ain’t a soldier.”

“Whadda yuh mean, glad?  It takes a man to do man-size work.  That’s what I mean.  Wait till about twelve of us stand before yuh waiting for the word!  Lucky for you this sand makes soft digging, or you wouldn’t have pep enough left to dig your own grave, see.”

“You seem to know.  Is yours dug already?  They musta had you at it last night.”

The guard grinned and suspended hostilities until after Johnny had eaten, when he led him out and across to where Johnny’s inquisitor of the night before awaited his coming.  Captain Riley was not so terrifying by daylight.  For one thing, he betrayed the fact that he wore large, light-tan freckles, and Johnny never did feel much awe of freckles.  Captain Riley also wore a smile, and he was smoking a cigar when Johnny went in.

“Good morning, Mr. Jewel.  I hope you slept well.”

“I guess I did—–­I never stayed awake to see,” Johnny told him quite boldly for a youth who had blushed and said “sir” to this man last night.