“You fellows make me sick,” Matthews said, walking away in disgust, followed by a laugh.
But Potter did not laugh; the thing was too bizarre, too weighted with sinister possibilities. It was absurd to suppose the enemies of the country had stolen that lone aeroplane, and yet what a weapon an aeroplane would be in their hands!
“What do you think?” Kraemer asked.
Potter shook his head. “It’s past me. But I don’t like it.”
They walked up-stairs together to the dining-room, discussing the thing. At the table Kraemer suddenly changed the subject.
“Potter,” he said, “I want to get into the second officers’ training-camp. It’ll be starting sometime in a month or so.”
“Fine!... Wish I could go, too.”
Kraemer hesitated. “I’m afraid,” he said, “they won’t take me.”
“Why not?”
“Well, our name is German—and Dad was born in Germany.”