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Updated: May 20, 2025
That fine bunch of pilots of yours can't get off the ground until the Spads get here and maybe not then." "See here!" McGee challenged stoutly. "I'll bet you anything you like that those boys " "Will all be aces in a month," Larkin completed, knowing the extent and warmth of McGee's habitual enthusiasm. "All right, Shrimp, so be it. But what has that to do with the show? Want to go?" "Sure.
He is so self-satisfied, so arrogant, and so cocksure of every word he utters and every movement he makes. He is the coldest fish I ever met. He reminds me of someone but I can't remember who it is. Sometimes I think he is Listen! What's that?" McGee's question went unanswered as the shrill blasts of the air raid siren shattered the peace of the village with its frenzied warning.
"Fact is, I don't know your status now, and I don't know how to dispose of your case. I called Wing and was told that your assignment hadn't come down. The personnel of this squadron is complete. Here's a pretty pickle! Guess I'd better pass the buck and send you back to Wing." McGee's face fell. For once words failed him. He turned his eyes on Larkin, appealingly.
Under these circumstances the people of the Canadian provinces and of the Maritime Provinces had but few opportunities of seeing each other, and the people of all the provinces knew much more of their neighbours in the United States than they did of their fellow-colonists. One result of the Hon. D'Arcy McGee's visit in 1863 was an invitation by the city of St.
He was still just a little too mad to trust his tongue. Major Cowan was the first to notice him. "Ah! Lieutenant McGee! I am " "No sir, I am Lieutenant McGee's ghost. McGee got his neck broken over there just now trying to make a landing in the dark. Your ground crew were exceedingly helpful to him, Major. So nice of them to obey his signals so promptly." For once Cowan was at a disadvantage.
The embarrassment of their position was but little greater than that of McGee's. The burning plane offered sufficient light for landing, but it was also lighting up the hangars and the field, and he momentarily expected the enemy to let go with their bombs. It would not be pleasant down there when those whistling messengers began to arrive.
McGee's second throw went one hundred and seventeen feet. A cheer arose from his backers, for it was a great throw and within five feet of his record. Undoubtedly McGee was in great form and he might well be expected to measure up to his best to-day.
He could hear the rustling and crackling of twigs and branches in different directions down the hillside, where the fugitives had separated as they escaped. And yet he stood there for an instant, dazed and wondering, "What next?" His eyes fell upon McGee's rifle standing upright in the corner.
At the door to headquarters he turned down the gravel walk that ran in front of the row of huts used as quarters and was soon lost to sight in the darkness. McGee's report of his victory was characteristically laconic. Not a word did he employ that was not necessary to the report. No fuss, no feathers, no mock heroics.
We were afraid to ask them the reason for their yelling, as that would have been regarded as an impertinence, and probably would have caused us all to be whipped. At length, after a long and wearisome journey, we reached Pontotoc, McGee's home, on Christmas eve.
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