“It was just as though I saw not only stars' but moons, suns, comets, rainbows and northern lights all at once,” he explained to his chum.
The bullet in the leg had cut only part way through the wall of an artery. At first the tissues held the blood back from spurting out in a stream that would soon have carried life with it. But either some unconscious motion on Jack's part, or a jarring of the plane, broke the half-severed wall, and, just before Tom landed, his chum began to bleed dangerously. Then it was the surgeon had made his remark, and acted in time to save Jack's life.
“Well, I guess we made good all right,” remarked Jack, as his chum visited him in the hospital.
“I reckon so,” was the answer, “though the Huns haven't sent us any love letters to say so. But we surely did drop the packages in the prison camp, though whether Harry got them or not is another story. But we did our part.”
“That's right,” agreed Jack. “Now the next thing is to get busy and bring Harry out of there if we can.”
“The next thing for you to do is to keep quiet until that wound in your leg heals,” said the doctor, with a smile. “If you don't, you won't do any more flying, to say nothing of making any rescues. Be content with what you did. The whole camp is talking of your exploit. It was noble!”
“Shucks!” exclaimed Tom, in English, for they had been speaking French for the benefit of the surgeon, who was of that nationality.
“Ah, and what may that mean?” he asked.
“I mean it wasn't anything,” translated Tom. “Anybody could have done what we did.”
But of this the surgeon had his doubts.