"Let's see—yes," said one or two. "We were talking about the joke of that couple to-day being so scared by a bit of fast driving on a clear road."
"Right," said the other, and laughed. "Heaps of people out here know those two, and it's a standing joke that you can't hire them to sit on the front seat of a car or a tender or travel anything over fifteen miles an hour in anything on wheels."
He waited a moment for some jests and chuckles to subside, and finished, grinning openly. "They are the two I told you about—Charger Wicks and Billy Bones!"
There was dead silence for a minute. Then, "Good Lord!" said one of the quartette faintly, and "Wh—which was Charger?" faltered another. "In their flying kit we couldn't——"
"The smallest—the one you called the pale-faced, nervy-looking little 'un," said "A" Flight Commander.
"Help!" said the other weakly. "And I—I recommended him 'Sulphurine Pills for Shaken Nerves.' Oh, help!"
"Yes," said the last of the demoralised quartette miserably, "and he thanked us, and said he'd write it down the minute he got back."
There was another pause. Then, "Such a joke!" said someone, quoting from the opening chapter of the quartette's story—"such a joke!" And the Mess broke in a yell of uproarious laughter.
The quartette did not laugh.