It appeared that airmen here were persons of some importance, as affording the only connecting link with the outside world.
Almost every day, the boys were advised, an aëroplane went to Galician headquarters, on the outward flight carrying only letters and postcards, but on the return trip bringing tinned meats and hand grenades for the soldiers.
The big biplane piloted by Billy and Henri dwarfed anything else in the way of air machines shown in the fortress.
Other aviators, viewing the No. 3's, cheerfully conceded that they were certainly built to be winners.
These experts, however, as usual with their kind just getting acquainted with our boys, were inclined to be doubtful of the capacity of the youngsters to rank with themselves as drivers of aircraft.
It was up to time—a little time—to convince them of their error of judgment.
The crack driver of the Przemysl air squadron, Stanislaws, which name Billy promptly shortened to "Stanny," was the earliest convert to the new belief when he went as observer with the boy from Bangor on the latter's first foraging detail.
Lack of knowledge of the country prevented the chums from working together at this period.
"He will show me the way, but just hazard a little guess that I'll have a little show of my own on the way."
Billy buzzed this in the ear of the grinning Schneider, when the order to get away was received.