"He was a good, clean fighter," said young Carter regretfully. "When did you hear this, sir?"
"This morning, through H. Q. Intelligence."
"Tam will be awfully bucked," said somebody. "He was complaining yesterday that life was getting too monotonous. By the way, we ought to drop a wreath for poor old von Zeidlitz."
"Tam will do it with pleasure," said Blackie; "he always liked von Zeidlitz—he called him 'Fritz Fokker' ever since the day von Zeidlitz nearly got Tam's tail down."
An officer standing by the window with his hands thrust into his pockets called over his shoulder:
"Here comes Tam."
The thunder and splutter of the scout's engine came to them faintly as Tam's swift little machine came skimming across the broad ground of the aerodrome and in a few minutes Tam was walking slowly toward the office, stripping his gloves as he went.
Blackie went out to him.
"Hello, Tam—anything exciting?"
Tam waved his hand—he never saluted.