The lieutenant was framed in the flaps of his canvas house when the boys presented themselves for supposed correction.
The officer calmly inspected the recruits through the smoke that wreathed around the bowl of his meerschaum.
CHAPTER XLIII.
SETTING OF A DEATH TRAP.
“I’ve been getting a line on you.”
When the lieutenant delivered himself thusly the boys were sure and positive that he had all the details of the fight, and wonder only was left as to how serious a breach of discipline the officer would consider a battering match on the parade ground.
What was their surprise, then, when the lieutenant went on to say, aiming the stem of his meerschaum at a group of officers—high officers apparently—which at the moment made a ground circle of slim, polished boots about a Zeppelin taking in its flying cargo of gas:
“Colonel Muller, over there, has just been telling me the story of a couple of boys he met in America who beat anything of the age in the matter of expert flying. I mentioned that the crew of one of our seaplanes had picked up a pair of kids who, they claimed, were navigating alone in an airship big enough to keep the best of them guessing. The colonel has expressed a wish to look you over. He’s great for aviation.”
“Gee! I believe that this Muller was with Colonel McCready when we made that record flight in Texas. You remember, the tall one, with the monocle, and hair and mustache the color of a ten-dollar gold piece.”
The lieutenant had walked down the canvas row to ascertain the further wishes of the colonel, giving Billy this chance to search the memories of his chum and himself.