In the mean time Victor Adolph was expecting the promised visit. He was sitting on his balcony and lying back comfortably in a rocking-chair, with a book in his hand and a cigarette between his lips. He was not alone. His constant attendant, General von Orell, adjutant, tutor, compagnon de plaisir, paternal friend, and master of ceremonies, all in one person, was resting in a second rocking-chair, also engaged in smoking and reading. Only he was puffing a strong imported cigar and was reading a military aëronautical journal.
Victor Adolph glanced up from his reading: “Why, he is a real poet, this Helmer.... You ought to read ‘Schwingen,’ Orell, since you are so much interested in aviation, as I see from the title-picture of your journal.”
The general politely laid his journal aside, as his prince was pleased to address him.
“Never read poems, Your Royal Highness.”
“I know that, you are too ‘matter-of-fact’ for such things.”
“Too what?” The general did not understand the English expression used by the prince.
“Too sober, too cold-hearted, too skeptical, too....”
“Too prosaic. Granted. Dry common sense. Practical mind. I flatter myself.”
“What news in your journal? Any great advance in the art of flying?”
“Yes, great supplies of explosives can be carried by airships.”