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

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On the eleventh morning Henri told Billy at breakfast that he (Henri) was again as “fit as a fiddle.” “Let’s be moving,” he urged.

“All right.” Billy himself was getting restless. They had been absolutely without adventure for ten long days.

But, when Henri returned from a visit to the aëroplane, he wore a long face.

“There’s no more ‘ammunition’ in the tanks,” he wailed. “There isn’t as much as two miles left.”

“That means some hiking on the ground.” With this remark Billy made a critical survey of his shoes. “Guess they’ll hold out if the walking is good.” Henri, however, was not in a humor to be amused.

“I say, Billy, what’s the matter with making a try for Roulers? Trouble or no trouble, we’ll not be standing around like we were hitched. It would be mighty easy if we could take the air. No use crying, though, about spilt milk.”

Marie, who had been an attentive listener, putting on an air of mystery, called the attention of the boys to a certain spot on the cleanly scrubbed floor, over which was laid a small rug of home weaving. The girl pushed aside the rug and underneath was shown the lines of a trap-door, into which Marie inserted a chisel point. The opening below disclosed a short flight of steps leading down to an underground room, where candle light further revealed, among other household treasures, such as a collection of antique silver and the like, two modern bicycles.