What a gala occasion it was, then, the day that Captain Johnson and Josiah Freeman pressed with their brogans the pavement of Rue de Rivoli, and brought the news that another brand new sea-plane had slapped the face of the Seine two hours previous.
“The testing and exhibition work has grown a little too much for Uncle Josh and myself,” was the captain’s first after-dinner remark, when Madame Trouville had laughingly accorded him the privilege of smoking a cigarette. Henri and Billy did most of the laughing, however, when the captain really tackled the cigarette.
“As I was saying,” went on the captain, “it is not in the pins that we can train two of the planes at the same time—and we have three now in the hangars at Dover that must have our warrant. Now I know,” waxing confidential, “a pair of likely young men who could, with a reminder or two, fill the bill to perfection.”
“Are they at present in France?”
Henri passing the wink to Billy.
“Oh, go on there, now,” bluffed the captain.
“I know who you mean,” clamored Jimmy, who at times was seriously English.
“You’re a genius, my boy,” put in Josh.
“Well, and out with it, the very boys are here, and guying their old friend for attempting suicide with a cigarette.”
“Is it a go?”