THE TWINKLE TWINS
Unable to restrain his own wonder, Jimmy burst forth impulsively, "Say,
where did you two come from? You don't belong around here, do you?
That's the first plane I've seen since we struck Camp Sterling and said
'I do.'"
"We live about thirty-five miles from here, out in the country. We're
the Twinkleton Twins," came the smiling answer. "That's no joke. The
name, I mean." He had noted Jimmy's involuntary half-frown. "We're
Twinkletons all right. John and Gerald. I'm John and he's Gerald. Only
we get Jack and Jerry, or the Twinkle Twins, mostly. Oh, it's great to
have a double!" he added drolly, his Cheshire grin reappearing.
"It sure is," echoed his brother, duplicating the wide smile.
"Well, Twinkle Twins, we're glad to know you." Bob held out his hand.
"I'm Bob Dalton, and these two Sammys are Roger Barlow and Jimmy
Blaise--Blazes, I mean."
"Jimmy Blazes! That's a hot name," commented the twin who had first
spoken, as he shook hands with Roger and Jimmy. "Pretty near as good as
Twinkle Twins."
"Pretty near," agreed Jimmy with a heartiness that bespoke lively
approbation of the merry-faced strangers. His glance roving over the
aeroplane, he added: "It must be great sport to sail around in that.
Beats a buzz-buggy all hollow!"
"That's us. We have a racer, but we haven't used it much since we got
Auntie, here."
"Auntie!" repeated Roger in an amused tone. Thus far he had let Bob and
Jimmy do the talking. "Talk about names! That's a funny one for an
aeroplane."
"She's an Antoinette, but we call her Auntie 'cause it's quicker. She's
a near and dear relative. See?" explained Jack Twinkleton. "She has a
history, too. You'd never guess who used to own her, so I'll tell you.
You've heard of Emile Voissard, haven't you?"
"Well, rather!" exclaimed Bob. "He's the wonderman they call the 'Flying
Terror of France.' I've seen a lot of pictures of him. He's done great
work in the air for the Allies. Never expected to meet anyone who knew
him, though." Bob's features registered profound admiration.
"He's a cousin of ours," proudly informed Jerry. "Our mother was a
Voissard. We're half French and the rest English. This plane is a back
number. Emile was over here with it before the war began, giving
exhibition flights. We lived in California then. He used it a lot out
there. About the time he got ready to throw it on the scrap heap we made
him give it to us. The engine was on the blink, etc., and he said it was
a safe proposition for us, because we'd never be able to do more than
run it over the ground. We tinkered at the engine a long while, but we
finally made her go, and Auntie's been using her wings more or less ever
since."
"We only came east last July. We were in Stanford University," chimed in
Jack. "We're a pair of 'orfin' twins. Used to spend our summers with an
aunt in California, but she couldn't stand us after we got the flying
habit. We got on her nerves. So she shipped us and Auntie out here to an
uncle of ours. It suited us, though. He has a fine country place. He's a
chemist and spends most of his time hanging out in his laboratory.
Doesn't care much what we do as long as we let him alone. He's a sort of
hermit and sticks off by himself. Now, come on. Jerry and I'll show you
around. Guess you've heard enough about us."
With this the Twinkle Twins conducted a most willing trio about and up
into the aeroplane, keeping up a running fire of explanation as they
pointed out its parts and their uses. From the well-patched taut canvas
wings to the once almost useless engine, which they had successfully
repaired, they had demonstrated a skill and ingenuity that aroused the
Khaki Boys to enthusiastic admiration. They were in the midst of a most
interesting experience, consequently they asked questions to the stage
of being ashamed to quiz further these affable new acquaintances.
"It's risky when your engine stops all of a sudden. Is that what
happened to you this afternoon?" Jimmy ventured a last query.
"Yep," nodded Jack. "When Auntie gets balky then we have to do some
volplaning. Take a quick slide down, you know. She's all right; got a
fine stability. Oh, fine! Except in banking or running across the wind.
Sometimes wish she was a Bleriot. Then again, I don't."
"We love our Auntie, but oh, you dihedral angle!" put in Jerry
fervently.
His tone made his listeners smile, though none of them had the slightest
idea of what he was talking about. Jack immediately following his
brother's remarks with a further account of their flight and descent
that afternoon, the Khaki Boys forebore inquiring into the nature of
that mystifying term "dihedral angle."
The tour of inspection concluded the twins launched a volley of eager
questions concerning the Army and life at Camp Sterling, such as "How
long have you been in camp?" "Do you like it?" "How long do you suppose
it will be before you go over?"
"Maybe we wouldn't like to give old Auntie a whack at the Boches,"
declared valiant Jerry. "I'll bet we could do up a few Prussians before
we got ours."
"It's this way with us," confided Jack. "We've had practice and made
some fair flights. Next week we're off to enlist in the Aviation Corps,
if they'll take us. We're just past nineteen, but Uncle Edward has given
his consent. We know a little bit about the flying game besides handling
the plane. Ever since the war began we've been studying up on engines,
machine guns, military law and all that. We can make maps and read 'em
too. We'll have to go to an Aero school, if we're accepted, but when we
get there we're going to pretty soon show 'em from the start that we're
regular flyers. A good many fellows that go into the aviation corps
never see their chance to get off of the ground. But not the Twinkle
Twins. We're crazy to go over quick."
"Maybe bob up in front of good old Emile and spring a surprise on him,"
averred Jerry, who seemed fond of supplementing his brother's remarks
with one or two of his own.
"Hope we'll see you again before you go," Jimmy said warmly. "Why can't
you come up to camp to-morrow? We'd be glad to show _you_ around. We're
all going home on Wednesday for Thanksgiving. By the time we get back
you may be gone."
"Much obliged for the invitation. We'll take you up on it and drive over
to-morrow afternoon in the racer. We went up there once when we first
came east. Since then we've been pretty busy with Auntie. Never happened
to fly so near Sterling until to-day. We've always started off in other
directions. You'll have to wise us where to find you and all about it.
We don't want to miss seeing you."
"Tell us what time you'll be there and we'll meet you in front of the Y.
M. C. A.," proposed Roger. "How about two P. M. to-morrow?"
"O. K.," replied Jack.
"That'll suit us," from Jerry.
A cordial but hasty handshaking all around, and the Khaki Boys departed,
casting frequent backward glances at the aeroplane. Its owners had
already begun to busy themselves with "Auntie" preparatory to taking
flight.
"It must be great to fly," glowed Bob. "Those twins are wonders. I mean
the way they've rigged up that plane and all that. I had to smile to
myself, though, at what that one said about flying Auntie against the
Boches. You can figure how long that little light-weight, with its
patchy wings and misfiring engine, would last against a Fokker. Bing,
bang! Away goes Auntie; all shot to pieces. They've got the proper
spirit, just the same."
"Wish we would meet 'em again in France," emphasized Jimmy.
"I was struck dumb when they claimed Voissard as a relative," declared
Bob. "If it hadn't been for that Red Cross Bazaar we'd never have met
the Twinkle Twins. Talk about looking alike! They certainly are the
original duplicates. But for goodness' sake, what's a dihedral angle?"
"Don't ask me. You know more about planes now than either Blazes or I,"
shrugged Roger.
"I ought to know," deplored Bob. "Never was sent out to do an aeroplane
story when I was on the _Chronicle_. I've read quite a lot about planes
since the war began. Mostly about the newer types, though. That
Antoinette of theirs isn't one of them. It's a fairly old-timer. I'm
going to hunt up that dihedral angle puzzle in my dictionary."
Back in camp barely in time for mess, Bob was forced to postpone his
search for information concerning the mystifying angle. Returned to
barracks from the mess hall he consulted a medium-sized, fat, black
dictionary.
"Here you are," he presently informed his still unenlightened bunkies.
"Here's a picture of Auntie, and here's a Bleriot. See the difference?
See the way the wings of this Antoinette are set in a slight V? There's
your old dihedral angle. Look at this Bleriot. Its one plane is set in
a rigid horizontal line. Now I'm going to read up on this. Oh, wait till
to-morrow. I'll make the Twinkle Twins think I'm the man that taught
Cousin Emile how to fly."
"Those two must have done a lot of studying by themselves," observed
Roger. "I suppose being at Standford University has helped them some.
I've heard that it's a fine college. Many of its students have gone into
the aviation corps."
"Oh, those Twinkles have just absorbed knowledge of aeroplanes like a
sponge takes up water," was Bob's sage opinion. "They've made it their
chief interest in life. Sort of following in their cousin's footsteps,
you know. They're lucky to have had the chance."
"I suppose it's hard for ordinary enlisted men in the aviation corps to
get a chance to fly," mused Roger. "Our training must be easy beside
what they have to go through."
"Most of 'em haven't the foundation to start with," rejoined Bob. "It
takes a trained mind to get away with all a man has to learn before he
ever starts to fly. Then again, with all he knows he may never develop
into a flyer. It may not be in him to make good. It's a great game, but
I'll bet it carries a lot of disappointed sore-heads along with it. I'd
never want to tackle it. I'd sure be one of 'em."
The tardy arrival of Ignace who had been on detail in the mess kitchen
of late, turned the conversation back to the subject of the Twinkle
Twins themselves. The Pole was duly regaled with an account of the
afternoon's adventure, to which he listened in rapt silence. Much to the
surprise of his bunkies, he earnestly begged his Brothers not to
introduce him to the illustrious twins on the morrow. "You no bring
here," he entreated.
"What's the matter with you, Iggy? They won't bite you." Jimmy finally
grew a trifle impatient. "We're going to bring 'em up here on purpose to
meet _you_, 'cause you can't go to the 'Y' with us to meet _them_. Do
you get me? That goes."
"So-o-o!" Ignace looked desperate but made no further objection. In fact
he said little more that evening. Apparently losing all interest in his
bunkies' new acquaintances, he retired to his cot and occupied himself
in a laborious study of Roger's manual, which he had at last begun to
"un'erstan'."
When, at precisely two o'clock on Sunday afternoon the twin guests
arrived and were presently conducted in triumph to Company E's barrack
by their boyish hosts, Ignace was missing from the squad room. Nor did
he put in an appearance until just before time for the evening mess, at
least half an hour after his bunkies had bade their visitors a reluctant
farewell and watched them drive off down the company street in their
racer.
"You're a nice one!" greeted Jimmy in pretended disgust. "Where have you
been keeping yourself? Maybe you were ashamed to be seen with us! What
do you mean by quitting us cold? You're a fine sort of Brother, you
are."
Jimmy's energetic salutation brought a dull flush to the Pole's cheeks.
His china-blue eyes showed real distress. He gulped, sighed, shifted
from one foot to the other, then faltered out: "Never I shame to go by
you an' Bob an' Roger. So have I the respet to my Brothar. Such gran'
fren' see me, think I no much, think mebbe you no much, too. You tell
you have 'nother Brothar, all right, they don't see. They see----"
Ignace made a gesture expressive of his lowly opinion of himself.
"Well of all the modest violets, you're the flower of the bunch!" was
Bob's satirical tribute.
"You've a nice opinion of us, Iggy." Roger's twitching lips belied his
reproach.
"Let's take him over to the shower bath and duck him," proposed Jimmy.
"Of all the bosh I ever listened to that's the boshiest. Wake up, Iggy!
You're not at a social tea. You're in the Army now, and in bad, too,
just on my account. If you ever again do another vanishing act when
we're going to have company, you'll be more than in bad with the Army;
you'll be in bad with us. You'll be going around hunting three lost
Brothers, who quit you because you couldn't tell the difference between
a regular fellow and a snob!"