“Do you want to go?” asked Ben impatiently.
The stranger admitted that he wanted to go, but still expressed doubts as to Ben’s ability to handle an aeroplane.
“All right, stay here if you want to,” Ben said. “But perhaps you’d better tell me your name so I can make a report to your friends if I’m asked any questions.”
“My name,” answered the other, “is Claude Mercer DuBois, and I’m from London, England. I came to this blawsted country after big game and I’ve been made game of myself.”
“Well, Claude Mercer DuBois,” Ben went on with a grin, “if you want to get down to camp where you can get plenty to eat and drink, you’d better be hiking toward the machine. I came up here to talk with Terry, but he’s pickled and I can’t get any satisfaction out of him so I’ll have to come back some other time.”
It took a long time for Claude Mercer DuBois to climb the steep gully, wade through the snow on the summit, and pass down to the landing where the Louise was expected to pick the two up. The journey was completed at length, however, and soon Ben saw the aeroplane off to the south. He signaled with his electric and directly the machine dropped down almost at the feet of the disgusted Englishman.
“I say,” he said, “this is quite remarkable, you know. Here I find school-boys running machines our army officers fail to handle.”
“We do a good many things on this side of the pond,” laughed Ben, “which you Englishmen will never be able to accomplish!”
“If you want to get down to our camp, hop in,” Jimmie urged.
As the Englishman took his seat, Jimmie leaned over and whispered in the ear of his chum: