THE FLIGHT.
Judy felt that perhaps she was not quite fair to Jo to test her by this
interview, but she did long to speak to her. If Kent and Cousin Sally
recognized her, she knew full well she could trust them to keep silent.
Philippe crossed the field and stopped the daring little aviator just
after he had made his report to the commander.
"A young lady is asking for you."
"A young lady for me? Absurd!"
"Yes, she has heard of your wonderful feats and longs to meet you,"
teased Philippe; and then added: "Really, Williams, you are superb."
"Not at all! Well, I am tired and don't want to meet any young ladies."
"But this one already knows you," and Philippe produced Judy's card.
"Miss Julia Kean," Jo read in amazement. "How did she get out here,
anyhow? Where is she?"
"Over here with my mother," and Philippe looked with some amusement at
the evident blush that spread over Jo's freckled cheeks. She still had
on the grotesque cap and goggles which would have made recognition of
her difficult. She wanted very much to see Judy. She wanted to hear
something of her Polly, too, and she intended to have Judy look him up
if possible, and report to her.
"Will you see her?"
"Sure!"
"Miss Kean is a charming girl, Williams, isn't she?" said the quizzing
Philippe, looking searchingly at his companion as they made their way
across the field.
"You bet!" said Jo.
"Have you known her long?"
"Quite a while," and Jo's cheeks again were suffused with a dark flush.
"Poor little fellow!" thought Philippe. "I can't bear to tell him she
is to be married. He is such a dare devil the chances are he will be
killed before long and he may never have to know that his inamorata has
chosen a better looking man, not a better man--they don't make them to
beat little Williams."
As they approached the car, impulsive Judy jumped out and ran to meet
her friend. Jo ran, too, and they embraced with such ardor that Philippe
stood back amazed. Maybe Kent Brown was not to be so envied, after all.
If the girl who was to marry him in a day was so lavish with her
embraces for other men, what kind of wife would she make? Of course,
Williams was a rather dried up person, but then a man's a man for a'
that.
Kent, too, was rather astonished when his fiancee left him with such
precipitation and before all the aviation camp hugged and kissed the
strange bunchy little figure. Ardor for the heroes of France was all
well enough, but a fellow's sweetheart need not be quite so warm in her
manner of showing her appreciation, especially when the fellow happens
not to be one himself in the habit of making daily daring flights to spy
out the weakness in the trenches of the enemy.
The Marquise laughed as she had not done since the first week in August
of that terrible year. Kent looked at her in astonishment. She was not
so very much like his mother, after all. His mother would not have been
so much amused over the discomfiture of a young lover.
That matron was saying to herself: "How stupid men are!" She had
recognized Jo from the beginning. Kent had known in some far off corner
of his brain that Mrs. Polly Perkins was doing something or other about
the war, but his mind had been so taken up with his own affairs and
Judy's possible danger that that knowledge had stayed in the corner of
his brain while the more important matter of getting married was
uppermost. Suddenly the truth flashed over him and he was overcome with
laughter, too.
"Caught on, eh?" asked his cousin.
He nodded.
"We must keep mum," she admonished. "There is no reason why a woman
should not do her part this way if she can. I'd fly in a minute if that
would help any. Of course these stupid men would raise a hue and cry if
they knew a woman was carrying off the honours."
"I am as quiet as the grave," declared Kent.
Judy came to the car with her friend and with the utmost audacity
introduced Jo as Mr. Williams. The Marquise greeted the supposed young
man graciously. Kent sprang out and shook Jo warmly by the hand, much
to the astonishment of his cousin Philippe.
"Can't I see you a moment alone?" whispered Jo in Judy's ear. The
Marquise, as though she divined what was in the heart of Mrs. Polly
Perkins, asked her to come sit in the car; and then she suggested that
Philippe show the camp to Kent and on second thought decided to go with
them. The chauffeur had been sent with the hamper to the mess hall, so
Judy and Jo had a few minutes alone.
"I must find out something about Polly. I feel as though I could wait
no longer for news of him. Can't you help me?"
"Well, you know I am to be married to-morrow and sail for United States,
but I am going to see that news is got to you somehow. Cousin Sally will
do it, of course. She is the very person."
"Oh, but that Philippe must not know. He has already been very curious
about where he has seen me before, and I have had to be insufferably
rude to him to keep him from prying into my past. I have made good as
a man, but still they would not like it, I know."
"How on earth did you ever get in? I am dying to hear all about it."
"Well, naturally the examination for physical fitness was worrying me
some. I got that little dried up art student named Joel Williams, the
one who was always trying to claim kin with me, to take the examination
and then let me slip in in his place. I bought his ticket to America to
pay him for his trouble. He was broke, as usual, and scared to death
when the war started, and willing to do anything to get home. It was
really very simple to manage it. I am the same type, in a way, although
I hope I am not so dried up as my would-be cousin. Same initials, too,
which made the entering rather more regular."
"Oh, Jo, what a girl you are!"
"Shh! Don't call me a girl even to yourself. Do you think the Marquise
d'Ochte recognized me?"
"Of course she did and Kent, too! Do you think they would have left us
alone if they had not thought you were safe? Kent wouldn't have left me
with such a bird if he had not known who the bird was. He would be
afraid I might fly away with you. Oh, Jo, I do so want to fly!"
"Well, why not?"
"Oh, could I really?"
"I think so. I have brought in information to our commander that is
valuable enough for me to ask one small favor of him. Come on, let's
ask!"
The two girls were across the field and knocking for admittance at the
Commander's tent before the Marquise and the two young men had begun
their tour of inspection.
"A favor to ask!" exclaimed the grizzled old warrior who sat poring over
a map where Jo had only a few moments before added some crosses that
meant much to the tactics of the French army.
"I want to take a friend up in a machine."
"A friend! I am sorry, my son, but it is hard to tell friends in this
day of war. I can't let you. He might be no friend, after all, to
France."
"He! It is not a man but an American girl. She is just outside your
tent," and Jo raised the flap and motioned Judy to enter. Judy was
introduced. The old warrior looked at her searchingly.
"Tell me, are you related to Robert Kean?"
"His daughter, sir."
"Robert Kean's daughter! Why, my child, your father and I have been
close friends for years. Tell me where he is and what he is doing."
So Judy told of her father's letter and his being held in Berlin
because of the knowledge he had of Turkey's topography. She made him
laugh long and loud when she told of the ridiculous limericks he had
written on the paper boats.
"And you, Robert Kean's daughter, want to fly, and to fly with our
bravest and most daring aviator! Well, don't fly off to America with
him,--and God bless you, my children," and he gave Judy a fatherly
embrace and went back to his map.
When Kent got back to the car with his cousin, there was no Judy.
"Where can she have gone and where is Williams?"
Philippe looked rather mysterious. Young girls who rushed up and
embraced bird men with such ardor should not be allowed too much rope.
"No doubt she will be back soon. Williams is perhaps showing her the
camp. Look, there goes another machine up! Two in it! By Jove, it is
Williams! I can tell by his way of starting. He has such a smooth
getaway always. Could the passenger be Miss Kean?"
"More than likely," said Kent composedly. "She has always been crazy to
fly. I reckon Williams will take good care of her and not go too high or
try any stunts."
"Oh, certainly not!" said Philippe wonderingly. Americans were a riddle
to him. He never quite understood his own mother, who had rather a
casual idea of proprieties herself at times. That good lady, coming up
just then, expressed no concern over the impropriety of Judy's flying
with a man when she was to be married on the morrow to some one else.
Kent sat in the car with his cousin Sally and together they enjoyed
Judy's flight. Jo took her as close to the fighting line as she dared,
but she had no idea of endangering the life of her passenger. They
dipped and curved, for the most part confining their maneuvers to the
vicinity of the camp. Judy never spoke one word, but held her breath and
wept for sheer joy.
"To be flying! To be flying! Oh, Judy Kean, you lucky dog!" she said to
herself. "All my life I've been dreaming I could fly and now I am doing
it."
"Dizzy?" asked Jo.
"No, but happy enough to die," gasped Judy. "If I wasn't going to be
married, I'd be a bird man."
When the landing was finally made and Judy stepped out, the world seemed
very stale, flat and unprofitable. She was glad Kent was there waiting
for her. If she could not be a bird man, she could at least be a very
happy war bride. The great leather coat she had worn in her flight was
very ugly and unbecoming, and she was thankful for one thing that she
did not have to wear such frightful looking clothes all the time.
On the way back to Paris she asked cousin Sally how she had recognized
Jo Williams so readily.
"By her feet, of course! Why, no man on earth ever had such eternally
feminine feet." That good lady promised to find out immediately
something about Polly and let his spunky wife know where and how he was.
"She will have the Cross of Honour before she gets through, Philippe
says."
"You don't feel as though it were your duty to tell she is a woman, do
you?" asked Judy.
"Duty to tell! Heavens, child! I feel it is my duty to help France in
every way I can, and surely to get that girl out of the aviation corps
would be a hindrance to _la Patrie_. I doubt even Philippe's thinking it
his duty to tell, and," with a twinkle in her eye that the horrors of
war could not altogether dim, "Philippe has a very stern idea of his
duty. He felt maybe it was his duty to get in a flying machine and go
after you and Mr. Williams so he could chaperone you. He felt that the
dignity of the family was at stake,--so soon to be the bride of his
cousin and flying with another man! Terrible!"
"Why, of course! I never thought of how it looked. There I went and
hugged and kissed Jo right before everybody. I bet you a sou this
minute Philippe and all the rest of them are feeling sorry for you,
Kent."
"Well, they needn't be," declared that young man as he found Judy's hand
under the robe. "I'm satisfied--but I did feel a little funny for half a
minute when you went and kissed Jo so warmly. It took me a moment longer
to recognize her. Why didn't you put me on?"
"Put you on? How could I, with all the people around?"
"You promised me once you wouldn't fly with anybody until you could fly
with me. Don't you remember?"
"Of course I did, you goose! But I didn't say anybody--I said any man;
so you see I didn't break my promise when I flew with Mrs. Polly
Perkins!"