“That's so. We'll hope for that. And now let's go on with what we started when we saw Du Boise coming back—let's see what chance we have of being transferred to an All American escadrille.”
The boys started across the field again toward the headquarters, and, nearing it, they saw, in a small motor car, a girl sitting beside the military driver. She was a pretty girl, and it needed only one glance to show that she was an American.
“Hello!” exclaimed Tom, with a low whistle. “Look who's here!”
“Do you know her?” asked Jack.
“No. Wish I did, though.”
Jack glanced quickly and curiously at his chum.
“Oh, you needn't think you're the only chap that has a drag with the girls,” went on Tom. “Just because Bessie Gleason—”
“Cut it out!” exclaimed Jack. “Look, she acts as though she wanted to speak to us.”
The military chauffeur had alighted from the machine and was talking to one of the French aviation officers. Meanwhile the girl, left to herself, was looking about the big aviation field, with a look of wonder, mixed with alarm and nervousness. She caught sight of Tom and Jack, and a smile came to her face, making her, as Tom said afterward, the prettiest picture he had seen in a long while.
“You're Americans, aren't you?” began the girl, turning frankly to them. “I know you are! And, oh, I'm in such trouble!”