“Whew! excuse me from being an aviator!” declared Bumpus, so fervently that Giraffe turned and looked him over from head to foot, to remark caustically:
“No danger of that happening, Bumpus. They’d have to build a Zeppelin to accommodate you.”
“Oh! I’m not thinking seriously of trying it, Giraffe,” said the other, sweetly. “I guess I know my shortcomings as well as any one could. I don’t expect to fly as long as I stay in this world. There may be a time—but never mind about that. Our friend wants to shake hands with you, Thad. He knows what a heap you’ve done for him, and I guess he’ll have a right good opinion of American Boy Scouts after this.”
The rescued German aviator shook hands not only with Thad but each one of them in turn, and he said something in his own language which Giraffe later on told them was a warm expression of his heartfelt gratitude.
As the four lads started toward the road where they had left the stranded car he was standing there and waving his uninjured hand after them. When, however, they arrived at the mound and looked back once more he had disappeared.
Some people were coming along the road, and possibly the man may have discovered them before the boys did, seeking a place of refuge in order that they might not make out that he was a German, and so carry the news to some Belgian regiment quartered nearby.
Thad started in to work at the engine as though this thing of being called off to save the life of a birdman was a mere nothing at all, just coming along in the course of his ordinary business.
Bumpus installed himself in his seat and watched him work. That was a favorite occupation with Bumpus, for he did enjoy seeing some one else do things about as well as any boy that ever lived.
“Think he’ll get clear of his enemies, Thad?” he remarked, showing that all the while his thoughts were connected with the air pilot whom they had just rescued.
“He seemed to feel pretty sure of it,” the other replied, “though of course he’d have to avoid all the people living around this section, for they’d turn on him if they guessed he was a German. The Belgians are pretty furious over their country being overrun with the Kaiser’s troops. I’ve even seen old peasants handling guns as if they meant to fight for their homes, a very foolish thing for them to do, because it would only enrage the invaders, and end with a massacre.”