I swallowed a mouthful of sandwich.
"Let's not horse around, General.
I'm a big boy now and I got eyes.
All I want is a fair test for the CA- 4.
From there on out, it's up to you.
There are no other strings attached."
"What makes you think I won't give your plane a fair test now?"
I smiled at him.
"And build Forrester up even more in your wife's eyes?"
I could see the tightness leave him.
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
The brigadier's star on his shoulder meant nothing.
He was just another old man trying to hold a young dame.
I felt like telling him to stop knocking himself out.
If it wasn't Forrester, it would be some other guy.
"I think I’ll take that drink now."
"Help yourself," I said.
He opened the bottle and poured himself a straight shot.
He drank it and sank into the chair opposite me. "My wife's not a bad girl, Mr. Cord," he said half apologetically. "It's just that she's young – and impressionable."
He wasn't fooling me. I wondered whether he was fooling himself.
"I understand, General," I said.
"You know how it is with young girls," he continued.
"They see only the glamour, the excitement in a uniform.
A man like Forrester – well, it's easy enough to understand. The silver wings on his blouse, the D.F.C. and Croix de guerre."
I nodded silently as I poured myself a cup of black coffee.
"I suppose that was the kind of soldier she thought I was when we were married," he said reflectively. "But it wasn't long before she found out I was nothing but a kind of glorified purchasing agent." He refilled his glass and looked at me. "Today's Army is a complex machine, Mr. Cord.
For every man in the front line, there have to be five or six men behind the lines just to keep him supplied.
I always took pride in myself because I took care to see that that man got the best."
"I’m sure of that, General," I said, putting down my coffee cup.
He got to his feet and looked down at me. Maybe it was my imagination, but as he spoke, he seemed to grow taller and straighter. "That was why I came up to talk with you, Mr. Cord," he said with quiet dignity. "Not because you chose to bring my wife into an extraneous matter but to tell you that a test group will be at Roosevelt Field tomorrow morning to check out your airplane.
I requested it this morning as soon as I got back into the city. I phoned your Mr. Morrissey but I guess he couldn't reach you."
I looked up at him with surprise. A feeling of shame began to run through me.
I should have had brains enough to call Morrissey on my own before I shot off my big mouth.
A faint smile flitted across the General's face.
"So you see, Mr. Cord," he said, "you don't have to make any deals with Forrester on my account.
If your plane checks out, the Army will buy it."
The door closed behind him and I reached for a cigarette. I leaned back against the headboard of the bed and dragged the smoke deep into my lungs.
The telephone operator at the Chatham found Forrester in the bar.
"Jonas Cord," I said. "I'm in the Waldorf Towers down the street. I'd like to talk with you."
"I’d like to talk with you, too," he said. "They're testing your plane in the morning."
"I know. That's what I want to talk to you about."
He was in my apartment in less than ten minutes.
His face was flushed and he looked as if he'd spent the whole afternoon wrapping himself around a bottle.
"Looks like the old man saw the light," he said.
"That what you really think?" I asked, as he poured himself a drink.
"You can say what you like about him, but Gaddis is a good soldier. He does his job."
"Pour a drink for me," I said.
He picked up another glass and held it toward me.
I took it. "I think it's about time you quit playing soldier."
He stared at me.