Читать книгу Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in France and Belgium. Or, Saving the Fortunes of the Trouvilles онлайн

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“Get up and hear the birds sing,” yawned Billy.

“I’d a good sight rather hear a kettle or a coffee-pot sing,” yawned Henri.

“Right O,” agreed Billy.

The boys rolled over alongside of the aëroplane. A twin thought came to them that the late aviator surely must have carried something to eat with him.

It proved a glorious truth. There was a knapsack behind the driver’s seat and a canteen swinging under the upper plane.

“A meat pie!” Billy made the first find.

“Crackers and cheese!” Heard from Henri.

How good these rations tasted—even the lukewarm water in the canteen was like nectar. With new life the boys took up the problem presented by the next move.

Henri climbed into the aëroplane and very carefully inspected the delicate machinery, making free use of the oil can. Billy otherwise attended to the tuning of the craft, and everything was as right as a trivet in less than a half hour.

“Let me see”—Billy was thumbing a well-worn notebook—“as we fixed it on the steamer, Dunkirk was the starting place. But that storm entirely changed the route—a longer way round, I guess. No more Ostend for me, though I do wish I knew for sure whether or not they had Captain Johnson and Freeman locked up there. Let’s try for Bruges; that’s only a short distance from here, and we can follow the line of the canal so we won’t get lost.”