“Here’s a Kiwi!”
It was then that the crew of the “Dauntless,” looking about, realized that there was nothing but pilots anywhere in sight.
There was a commotion on the edge of the crowd, and elbowing his way in was a tall young man wearing a British officer’s uniform. Grasping the Skipper by the shoulders, he swung him around and then blurted out:
“Well, if it isn’t Skipper McBride, of all people!”
At the same time the Skipper recognized him and exclaimed:
“Why, Thorne, what are you doing here? And where are we, anyway?”
Thorne told him that he had been there for a long, long time—he could scarcely remember how long.
“We keep no track of time in this place, Skipper. You’re in another world now. The nights follow the days and we have nothing to worry about.”
Then he wanted to know who Jack was and also who the boy was.
The Skipper explained to him hurriedly of their flight and of their hopes of landing in India; how Kiwi, who was his son, had at the last minute stowed away aboard the plane, and how he had been able to help them in their journey over the water.