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

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“There is sure some high power in that make, sir,” replied Henri. “Never stops, either, until you make it.”

“All you boys need,” broke in Major Packard, “is a polishing bit of instruction in military reconnaissance, and you would be a handy aid for the service.”

“While I am only factory broke, Major,” modestly asserted Billy, “Henri there can draw a pretty good map on the wing, if that counts for anything, and do the radio reporting as good as the next. What a fellow he is, too, with an engine; he can tell by the cough in three seconds just where the trouble is. If I was going into the scout business, believe me, I might be able to make a hit by dropping information slips through the card chute.”

The dark-eyed, slender Henri shook a finger at his talkative comrade.

“Spare me, old boy, if you please,” he pleaded. “Gentlemen,” turning to the others, who were watching the housing of the aëroplane, “this bluffer wouldn’t even speak to me when the altitude meter, a little while ago, registered 3,000 feet. Then he had a wheel in his hands; down here he has it in his head!”