Wherever they were, the two were certainly larking. Finally, matters became pacified and then Jack got in a question as to where they were calling from.
“From Laredo,” Frank informed him, “from the flying field. Decided to come around this way to reach you in order to stop off and see a bull fight. Say, Jack, they tell us tomorrow will be the finest bull fight in months across the line in the Mexican town. We wanted to get you to come down. I thought of this stunt of asking the army flyers to let us call you—”
“That’s a tall one, Jack,” cut in Bob. “It was my bright idea.”
Another scuffling bout. “Great Scott,” said Jack to himself, his face in one broad grin of delight, “they’ve been penned up in a train for days and they’ve just got to let off their animal spirits. Only hope they don’t tear things to pieces for the army men.”
“Tell you what, fellows,” he said, when again matters had been pacified. “I’ll get Dad and we’ll fly down late this afternoon. Look for us about sunset. Then we can all go to the bull fight tomorrow.”
“That’s the idea,” endorsed Bob. “We want you, old scout. Kind of miss you, you know, and that sort of thing.” Bob was growing facetious to hide his deeper feelings. “Besides,” he concluded, “my father is here, too, and he sort of wants to foregather with your Dad.”
“Can’t blame him, can you, Jack?” cut in Frank. “Think of his having to put up with Bob so many days.”
“Hey, you fellows, cut that out, and listen to me,” expostulated Jack, as sounds reaching him indicated the friendly wrestling bout was being renewed. And when he once more had Bob’s ear, he told him to look up Captain Cornell.
“Shucks, Jack, you’re late,” said Bob. “It was Captain Cornell who gave us the run of the place soon as we told him we were your friends and that it was you we wanted to radio.”
“Yes, Jack,” added Frank, “he told us to be sure and get you to come to Laredo for tomorrow’s bull fight. Said he promised to take you to see a good one, and that this promised to be it.”