Hunger, which he had forgotten in the novelty of his surroundings, began to manifest itself again.

He got up and gleaned his aviator's helmet from a branch of the mahogany hatrack and looked at it dubiously, wishing that it was his Big Four Stetson instead.
"What I'm ready for right now is chuck," he said pointedly.

"I ain't fortune teller enough to give you any line on my future.

I wish to heck I could.

I'm out here to make good at flying.