“Do you think there is any chance?” asked Tom eagerly. “I wouldn't want anything better than to get Harry away from those Boches—and make his sister happy.”
“Well, there's a chance, but it's a slim one, I'm afraid,” remarked Jack. “We'll talk about it after we get back. Maybe there'll be a message from the Huns about him before the day is over.”
“I hope so,” murmured Tom. “If those Huns only act as decently toward us as we do toward them, we'll have some news soon.”
For it is true, in a number of instances that the German aviators do drop within the allied lines news of any British, French or American birdman who is captured or killed inside the German lines.
“All ready?” asked Tom of his helper.
“Switch off, gas on,” was the answer.
Tom made sure that the electrical switch was disconnected. If it was left on, in “contact” as it is called, and the mechanician turned the propeller blades, there might have been a sudden starting of the engine that would have instantly kill the man. But with the switch off there could be no ignition in the cylinders.
Slowly the man turned the big blades until each cylinder was sucked full of the explosive mixture of gasoline and air.
“Contact!” he cried, and Tom threw over the switch.
Then, stepping once more up to the propeller, the man gave it a pull, and quickly released it, jumping back out of harm's way.