“Exactly. Now how are we going to do it?”
“Oh, I fancy it will be all right. Merely a question of detail and procedure. They can't object to our wanting to fight among our own countrymen, now that enough of them are over here to make a showing. I suppose this is the first of the big army that's coming.”
“I imagine so,” agreed Jack. “Hurray! this is something like. There's going to be hard fighting. I realize that. But this is the beginning of the end, as I see it.”
“That's what! Now, instead of tinkering over our machines, let's see the commandant and—-”
Jack motioned to his chum to cease talking. Then he pointed up to the sky. There was a little speck against the blue, a speck that became larger as the two Americans watched.
“One of our fliers coming bark,” remarked Tom in a low voice.
“I hope he brings more good news,” returned Jack.
The approaching airman came rapidly nearer, and then the throngs that had gathered about the headquarters building to discuss the news of the arrival of the first American forces turned to watch the return of the flier.
“It's Du Boise,” remarked Tom, naming an intrepid French fighter. He was one of the “aces,” and had more than a score of Boche machines to his credit. “He must have been out 'on his own,' looking for a stray German.”
“Yes, he and Leroy went out together,” assented Jack. “But I don't see Harry's machine,” and anxiously he scanned the heavens.