Billy lifted a ruddy face from a bucket of ice-cold water, in which he
had been taking a waking dip, and then yanked Henri by the heels out of
a warm blanket nest.
“Get up, lazybones, and let’s be scraping the sky. It’s a good six
o’clock, and the cook’s all in a fume about the breakfast getting cold.”
Henri caught the spirit of his companion, and both gave way to joyful
anticipation of a twenty-mile dash in a pair of monoplanes.
They attempted to waltz with the cook, but neither could reach even
a quarter way around the waist of this rotund Wilhelm, and if the
latter’s legs had not been so much shorter than his waistband it is
likely that the skylarkers would have received several jars from a
ham-like foot.
Capering like colts, the boys headed for the hangar, and with the
assistance of Jacob and another helper, early on the ground, the
machines were rolled out to make their buzzing start for high places.
When Billy had removed kit number 16 from his monoplane he hopped into
his seat on the frame. Henri was already settled for flight.
The run-off, however, was postponed for a minute or two so that the
aëroplanists could watch the rise of a Zeppelin directly in front of
them.
“Let ’er go,” sang Billy, and both monoplanes got away together.
The Zeppelin had just swung around in the great arc of a circle, and
the boys in the monoplanes were sailing immediately above the great
cylinder. Henri had just turned a swift glance at his companion
aviator, with intent of setting the direction of flight, when--and the
horror of it--Billy’s machine suddenly stopped in midair, wabbling like
a cradle, and before the young aviator’s desperate attempt to retain
control could prevail the machine turned upside down, and the boy from
Bangor hung by the knees from the tumbling frame.
Henri would have cried aloud in agony of spirit--but he was as one
stricken dumb. He almost spelled death for himself by letting go of
the controls of his machine.
But what a sight for his staring eyes!
The falling monoplane had struck athwart the aluminum envelope of the
Zeppelin, and, though the bigger craft trembled from stem to stern with
the shock, it held its way, buoyed up by the gas chambers on each side
of the cylinder. Billy soon rested safely on one of the platforms,
cheered by members of a rejoicing crew.
Henri found his voice again, and, shouting like a madman, he sent his
monoplane darting toward the earth, and if he failed to land in his
usual beautifully precise way he was there when the Zeppelin brought
back to him that “dear old Billy.”
The lieutenant, hastily responding to summons, found his two expert
aviators hugging one another, and the crew of the Zeppelin critically
inspecting a damaged monoplane grounded between its mate and the big
ship.
“What’s the matter here?” nervously demanded the lieutenant.
“It looks like foul play is the matter,” shortly responded the chief
officer of the Zeppelin. He was not a member of Lieutenant Hume’s
command.
“You’re right,” exclaimed the lieutenant with an oath, as he knelt to
more closely inspect the chiseled propeller and the spiked rudder.
Turning to Billy, and in severe manner:
“Do you always hold your life so lightly as to start an air machine
without previous inspection?”
“That machine, sir, was as right as could be when we left it last
night. Indeed, sir, it was in elegant shape.”
“No question but what some devil in human form planned your death, and
if I get the dastard it will be a yardarm in the harbor for him, and no
waste of time and lead.”
The lieutenant was aroused, and when a calm like his was rudely broken
it meant woe for the object of his wrath.
Told of the manner in which Billy had been saved, the anger of the
officer relaxed its force for the moment, when he solemnly said:
“Of the like I have never known; it is beyond me.”
Investigation, vigorously pushed, soon developed a significant
fact--the youth to whom kit 9 was charged failed to respond at roll
call. Max was missing.
Jacob then blurted out the whole story of the fight, and all that had
preceded and followed it.
“I want to say right here and now,” was the stern declaration of the
lieutenant, “that the next offender in this camp will get his billet to
Cologne, where they play checkers with their noses on iron bars. As for
Max, if he is captured, you will see an example made that will not rub
out of your memories for many a day.”
With that the speaker’s jaws set like a clamp.
When Billy petitioned for the job of making another monoplane test the
very next day, the lieutenant was astonished.
“You certainly ought to take something for that nerve of yours, boy.”
“But, sir, it’s all in the game,” argued Billy; “it’s our business, and
we can’t quit for every close call.”
“See me to-morrow; besides, Herr Roque wants to have a talk with you.
Here he is now.”
The lieutenant presented Billy to a mild-looking man in citizen’s
attire, and who peered at the boy through horn-bound spectacles. This
noted secret agent was the picture to-day of a well-to-do merchant in
the lesser lines of trade. What his appearance would indicate to-morrow
is another thing. He was a lightning change artist, according to repute.
“Glad to meet you, young sir,” was his bland address, in perfect
English.
“Same to you, sir,” Billy politely replied, all the time wondering what
was coming.
“I just came over from the city to take up a little supply contract
with the officers here, and I learned of your narrow escape from death.
It was wonderful, miraculous. I congratulate you.”
“Thank you kindly, sir.”
“Ah, no need of thanks, young sir. I highly appreciate the favor of
meeting you.
“Let us be seated, if you please. I am not so young as I used to be.
Good. Now we can chat in comfort. I am very fond of the air sport, I
assure you. Isn’t it queer that often what we admire the most we know
the least about? Art, for instance--and flying, too, on little boards,
without the lifting power of gas. Wonderful!”
“What’s he driving at?” thought Billy. Then aloud: “I expect I had
better not take up any more of your time, sir, as you are here on
business.”
“I wish you knew just how dull it was in Hamburg now. Business is, oh,
so quiet. And I so like to talk to bright young men. It just occurred
to me that you and your young friend would like to take a little voyage
with me, in a trading vessel that I own. Of course, in these sad times
of war a sea voyage is not the popular choice for recreation, but just
a brief cruise in known waters isn’t at all bad for the nerves. The
regularly enlisted young men, it seems, cannot be spared, and I have
spoken to the lieutenant about borrowing his young visitors for a
week or two, promising them both a good time, and just that spice of
adventure which lads of your caliber seem to require.”
“It just occurred” also to Billy that it was more than passing strange,
in the first place, that there should be so much personal interest
manifested in the affairs of Henri and himself, and, secondly, how it
was that an ordinary tradesman could have such a “pull” with military
authority. The civilian here, as a rule, did not count in high figures
alongside of a uniform.
This was evidently an exceptional case, for not only did the lieutenant
approve of Herr Roque’s proposition and invitation, but that officer
had unbent to the extent of entertaining Henri, on the side, and
telling him that Billy and himself were lucky in attracting the
interest of this kindly merchant.
So it proved no longer a matter of open consent on the part of the
boys; it was simply a go, when the lieutenant commanded.
“I don’t know why I was selected as the dummy for all that beating
around the bush,” observed Billy, when the boys tumbled into their
bunks that night.
“You oughtn’t to kick because you are the prominent member of the
firm,” teased Henri.
“Well, we won’t know what it is until we get to it, that’s one thing
sure,” yawned Billy.
They were booked, if they only knew it, to discover that “Herr Roque”
was a man of many moods, as well as make-ups.