“I had forgotten that it was not like it used to be,” explained Henri, “and, too, I made a wrong turn, owing to the fact that the tower lights no longer serve to guide.”
“Yes,” continued the scholar, “the new element of warfare, the death-dealing airships, are responsible for that precaution. But in the morning my man, Armand, will set you right. He has gone up into the city for food supplies, and will not return to-night. Rest with me until then.”
With the light of day, and it was a glorious sunlit day, the terrors of the past night folded their wings and disappeared.
Armand well fitted into such a day; he was a jolly fellow, all smiles and a waistband that extended a long way ’round. He could not for the life of him see, he declared, how the boys ever got into queer street, when the way (to him) was so straight to the big boulevards. He was full of a story how he had seen some great flying by noted aviators only the day before.
“It is wonderful, this flying, is it not?”
This question as much to promote his enthusiasm as anything else.
“How fine is that Gilbert,” he rambled on, “and, to think, two young boys who also traveled the air just like the master.”
“It just happens, my friend,” said Henri, “that those two boys are standing close to you this blessed minute.”
“Mon Dieu!” (Goodness me!)
Armand was a slave from that minute.