They were about to ask their direction from a non-commissioned officer who was directing a squad of men in the unloading of a truck which seemed filled with canned goods, when some one said:
“There goes Black Jack now!”
The two air service boys looked, and saw, passing along not far away, a tall man, faultlessly attired, who looked “every inch a soldier,” and whose square jaw was indicative of his fighting qualities, if the rest of his face had not been.
“Is that General Pershing?” asked Tom, in a low voice of the non-commissioned officer.
“That's who he is, buddy,” was the smiling answer. “The best man in the world for the job, too. Come on there now, you with the red hair. This isn't a croquet game. Lay into those cases, and get 'em off some time before New Year's. We want to have our Christmas dinner in Berlin, remember!”
“So that's Pershing,” commented Jack, as he looked at the American commander, who, with his staff officers, was on a trip of inspection. “Well, he suits me all right!”
“The next thing for us to do is to find out if we suit him,” remarked Tom. “Wonder if he knows we're here?”
“I don't even believe he knows we're alive!” exclaimed Jack, for the moment taking Tom's joke quite seriously.
As General Pershing passed on, receiving and returning many salutes, Tom and Jack made their inquiries, learned where they were to report, and went on their way, longing for the time when they could get into action with the American troops.
“Oh, so you're the two aviators from the Lafayette Escadrille,” commented the commanding officer, or the C.O., of the newly formed American squadron, as Tom and Jack, drawing themselves up as straight as they could, saluted when he looked over their papers and their log books. These last are the personal records of aviators in which they note the details of each flight made. They are official documents, but when a birdman is honorably discharged he may take his log book with him.