The Wings of Eagles Page #2

- You owe me nothing.

That's what I meant.

- Good evening.

- Good evening, Mrs. Wead.

- So they didn't kick you out after all.

- Right.

And you spent

all of next month's pay celebrating.

Wrong. I won the first-to-solo pool.

- And I am loaded. No cracks.

- Hey...

The squadron decided

that flying with the Army...

...was as close to solo

as a sailor could get.

And this, my titian-haired darling,

is what I brought for you.

First prize.

- The Commodore's sick.

- Commodore?

Where's the Commodore?

Hiya, little old fella.

How you feel, little old boy?

Look what your daddy brought you.

First prize for the first crash.

Hey, let's get out of there.

You know, this crib's getting

a little small for the old Commodore.

Hey, Min.

This kid is sick.

The doc's in there.

He'll be okay, Spig.

Sure, Mr. Wead.

Them little kids get everything.

- Colds, measles.

- Yeah, sure.

I had the mumps myself, six times.

It don't mean anything.

Spig!

Sorry, Spig.

- Anything we can do?

- No.

But he can do her some good.

Stick around.

- Congratulations.

- Thank you, sir.

Congratulations.

We sort of split up, Spig and I did,

after graduation.

He became a hotshot pilot, all right.

Hotshot with a plane

and a baby carriage too.

In those years,

Spig was only little brass.

But after all, where would big brass be

without little brass?

- Good morning, sir.

- Good morning, Jack.

- Did you see this?

- Yes, sir.

What are we going

to do about it?

Jack, who's our best pilot?

Oh, I don't mean

the best throttle jockey...

...or the one who flies by the pit of his

stomach or by the seat of his pants.

I mean our best brain.

Capital B-R-A-l-N.

S-P-l-G.

- Get him.

- Yes, sir.

- That's mine.

- Give me my shovel.

Come on. Give it to me.

Quiet, kids. Go on upstairs

and take your bath.

Just a minute, young ladies.

Come back here and pick those up

and take them upstairs with you.

Come on. Now, hurry up. Hurry up.

Come on.

Go on, get moving.

See that you wash yourselves clean.

Good afternoon, Miss America.

Here among your unpaid bills

I find a communication.

From Washington. Washington, D.C.

I'm not going.

Stay broke and keep moving,

that's the story of our lives.

Spig, you've got two daughters.

They've lived in seven different houses

in seven different stations...

...in seven different years.

Back and forth across the country,

and in and out of it too.

Well, I'm just not gonna

move them anymore.

Well, have a drink. Pensacola, Coronado.

What's the difference between houses?

It's a big difference to me

because I've got to live in them.

All right. One of these days, you'll have a

nice, big, fine, gold-braided admiral's house.

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