"Thank you too, 'Kiddie,'" he said, nodded to the Sergeant, "I got a good old 'bus, Flight," turned, and ran off.
"A d——n good 'bus," said the Sergeant, "and a d—— n good man flying her."
XIII
THE LITTLE BUTCHER
The C.O. was showing a couple of friends from the infantry round the Squadron, and while they were in the hangars having a look at the machines—one of our latest type fighting scouts—a pilot came to them on the run, and hardly pausing to make a jerky salute, spoke hastily: "Message just come in by 'phone, sir, that there's a Hun two-seater over our lines near Rorke's Camp, and will you warn the Flight when they go up presently to look out for him. And if you don't mind, sir, I'd like to go up at once myself and have a shot at him."
The Major hesitated a moment; then "Right," he said, and with a quick "Thanks" the pilot whipped round and ran off.
"Might walk over and see him start," said the C.O. "He'll be gone in a minute. Always has his bus standing by all ready. He's our star pilot—queer little chap—always desperately keen for Huns, and makes any number of lone-hand hunts for 'em. Crashed nearly forty to date, the last brace before breakfast yesterday."
"Hope it didn't spoil his appetite," said one of the visitors.