His superior officer had been very kind about paying him short visits, and the old friendship between them would ordinarily have made Bob speak boldly. But this time caution urged him to be wary. He had narrowly escaped disaster the night he returned from Château-Plessis, and he doubted much that his chief would sanction a second visit there, or would believe in its possible success. He broached the subject nearest his heart by idly remarking:
“Funny, isn’t it, Major, how different the discipline of the Aviation Corps is from that of the other arms of the Service. I mean, every man is more or less on his own—he can carry out his plan, once he is in the air, without consulting anybody.”
“You mean he can obey orders in whatever way he thinks best,” Major Kitteredge corrected. “He is always following out a plan from Headquarters, though it may be a vague one. He can’t, for instance, sail off and drop bombs on Frankfort, if he has been told to harass the enemy troops at Montdidier—though both are praiseworthy objects.”
Bob was silent a moment. “Yes, of course,” he assented. “But if an aviator asked permission to make a certain flight over enemy territory his superior would probably consent, wouldn’t he?”
“For instance?” asked Major Kitteredge, looking keenly at him.
“Well, I know a fellow who is anxious to cross the Boche lines near here for reasons of his own. A risky flight, as it happens, but worth it to him. I wonder if he can get leave.”
“Reasons of his own? You mean he chooses to take great risks on a flight of no military value? No, his commander ought to refuse him leave,” said Major Kitteredge frankly.
“But if he—took the flight, and—let the cat out of the bag later?” Bob persisted.
The elder officer still kept his eyes on his companion. It was fairly plain that he guessed who the fellow was of whom Bob spoke. Watching his chief’s face, Bob oddly remembered an incident of long ago in the West, at Fort Leavenworth, when he had watched that same face with equal anxiety. Bob had coaxed the driver of the Q.M. ambulance which took the post children to school to let him drive the four frisky mules. Neither he nor the soldier had counted on passing Lieutenant Kitteredge on the lonely road just outside the reservation. How Bob had hoped that morning that the young officer would not raise his eyes to the driver’s seat and notice this serious breach of orders. Bob had already been punished once for it. It seemed impossible that the Lieutenant should not see him, and he scorned to hand over the reins at the last second, even if it could have been done in safety. The officer slightly turned his head and cast a glance in their direction, then he looked straight up the road again, as the ambulance rolled swiftly by. Bob’s boyish heart had warmed with gratitude for that friendly blindness. He pulled up the mules, handed the reins back to the driver without a word, and climbed over to his own place.
It was his eager study of Major Kitteredge’s face now that brought this little scene so vividly back. Would he be generous once more, in this new favor that Bob sought, and ignore what he could not approve?