When the lieutenant passed the word among the helpers to hustle the aëroplane shipment, it was noticeable that Billy and Henri served no longer in the pulling and hauling end of the job. They were held at the elbow of the directing force, and vested with the power to give orders in the hangar instead of taking them. This change of class met with no rebellion among the apprentices, for they reckoned that the newcomers must be of extraordinary ability to be so quickly advanced, and, further, it was soon recognized that even the lieutenant had no aircraft knowledge superior to his young assistants.
“I believe,” acknowledged this officer, “that I have you beaten in only one branch of the profession, the Zeppelin branch, I mean, and that, I suppose, is only due to the fact that this invention is exclusively German.”
“That’s mighty kind of you to say this,” returned Henri, “but Billy and I feel that you can yet set us straight on a good many points in these foreign planes, and we would be glad to have a chance to dig into Zeppelin instruction.”
“I don’t know about that last,” was the uncertain answer of the lieutenant.
“What’s the matter with Max, I wonder,” observed Henri, as the last crate of the shipment was rolled down to the docks; “he must be raising a pair of wings on his shoulders.”
“If you had seen the side glance he gave me to-day, you would leave the wings out of your calculations.”
Billy felt that Max quiet was more to be feared than Max boisterous.
“Sorry to see Colonel Muller leave, I tell you.”
“So was I, Henri; but he said that only a bullet would prevent our meeting again.”
The colonel had also told Billy that Henri and himself had only entered the side door of Germany, and there was a big chance of their seeing more of the country.