The crew of the submarine came in for some heartfelt expressions of gratitude on the part of the boys, whose lives they had saved, and Ned was privately made banker for some tobacco money for the men.
“This is like old times,” contentedly remarked Billy, as he heard again the drone of the sea-plane motors.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE SEALED PACKET.
“We’re not in the soldier business,” explained Captain Johnson to the boys; “it’s just a ‘trying out’ on contract on which we are now engaged. The old machine is somewhere in Ostend, and I guess it’s going to be a dead loss to us. You ask how we broke out of Ypres. Well, we convinced a good sport in authority that it was just the wind that blew us into the German lines, and we would favor any gale that would blow us out again.
“He had seen us as aërial performers once upon a time at Ostend, and being an infantryman of the old school, he privately regarded the whole flying fraternity in the light of circus stars. He did, however, concede that if anything counted for much above ground, it was the invention of his friend, Count Zeppelin.
“As matters warmed up around Ypres, we were hustled back to Ostend, and hung around there for some time, on parole, they called it, until one day we were permitted to board a hospital ship bound for Calais.
“We can’t show any scars, nor bullet holes in our clothes—not a thing to add to our glorious achievement of turning you boys loose in the war zone.”
The captain by this time had heard all about the adventures of his young friends.
“In this fuel test,” he continued, “we can give you a lift that may pretty near, if not quite, land you where you want to go. I wouldn’t mind sailing into Paris myself, but there are no free agents at the working end of a contract. I don’t know yet.”