Free The White Knight by Gilbert Morris Page B

be coming back.” Since they’d been on the ship, fuzzy memories of all the young men Luke had seen die in combat had constantly been swirling through his head. It disturbed him that he could not remember some of them very clearly—their names or their faces. A man should leave more behind him than that. He ought to leave a legacy of some kind. Luke shoved the thought away with a gust of irritation. There was no point in thinking like that.
    â€œWhat are you going to do, Luke?”
    â€œNot sure.”
    â€œYou could go to work for your dad in that factory of his.”
    â€œI suppose I could.”
    Streak grinned and punched Luke on the shoulder. “You’re a caution, Luke. You’d complain if they hung you with a new rope! Why, if I had a rich daddy that owned a factory, I’d never hit a tap as long as I lived. I’d just spend the old man’s money and enjoy life.”
    â€œJust become a parasite, huh?”
    â€œYou bet!” Streak’s eyes were gleaming with fun. “I’d never show up to work, except when Daddy got upset and I had to.”
    â€œIt doesn’t sound like a very exciting life. Besides, my brother, Tim, wouldn’t put up with it.”
    â€œDoes he run the factory?”
    â€œHe’s the vice-president.”
    Streak caught something in his friend’s tone. “What’s the matter? You and Tim don’t get along?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œHe’s a straight arrow and I’m the prodigal son. Always been that way since we were in grade school, I guess. Tim’sa good fellow but a little stuffy. He had a fit when I went to Spain.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œHe wanted me to stay home and learn the business.”
    â€œWell, the door of opportunity swings wide.” Garrison leaned his elbows on the railing. “I wish I had a rich daddy.”
    â€œHey, why don’t you go home with me. We’ll both go to work in that factory.”
    He shook his head. “Nope. I’m gonna fly something or other. I don’t care what it is.”
    â€œMore power to you if you can find someone who needs a pilot.”
    Garrison stood up straight and then arched his back. “Do you have some cash you can lend me?”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œI’m gonna go down and teach these tamales how to roll the dice.”
    Luke shrugged, reached into his pocket, and pulled out some bills. “I hope they take Spanish money.”
    â€œThey’ll take it. Start dreaming big. I intend to strip these sailors of every dime they’ve got.”
    Luke could not help but laugh. As he watched Streak go below, he realized how close he had gotten to the man during their time together in Spain. They had played on the same football team in college, but risking death with a man and waiting when his flight was late coming back formed a relationship that was far different from a football game. Luke leaned on the rail again and stared over the monotonous gray swells of the Atlantic. “At least I’ll be able to help Streak get settled,” he murmured. “Dad knows lots of people. He can find us both a job flying something, even if it’s crop-dusting.”
    As the boat continued to plow through the Atlantic, a sense of futility came over Luke. He had spent most of his life chasing some dream he could not even identify. He had thought he would find his purpose when he went to Spain to help free the Spaniards from the evil fascists, but that dreamhad gone down in flames, as had many of his companions. It was just as dead as they were. He tried to think of a purpose that would bring him the type of contentment his brother had possessed as long as Luke could remember, but his mind was a blank.
    He pulled the remaining money from his pocket—what was left of it after his contribution to the craps game—counted it, and jammed it back into his pocket. Sure I’ve got a