Of all this Schneider seemed oblivious. His was a blind patriotism.
Roque wore a look of mild reproach when he encountered Henri behind the lines that night, but he could not resist the prompting of forgiving admiration when Schneider stood before him in attitude of apology.
"Had no orders, of course, boss, but something stuck to my crazybone, and everything went."
"You will have something stuck on the breast of your coat, or I am very much mistaken," said Roque, extending his hand, which Schneider grasped with fervor.
That "something" was to be the Iron Cross, the famous decoration for valorous service, and the most coveted distinction in the German empire, a badge of courage woven into its military history.
"Were this boy a soldier of and for the Fatherland," solemnly continued Roque, "the royal gift might well be bestowed upon him."
Schneider threw an arm around the shoulders of the young aviator. "Of nothing else is he lacking to claim the honor," feelingly maintained the big fellow, and his eyes were moist as he spoke.
Henri shook his head. Then with a roguish glance at his chum, he said:
"The only medal I am hankering after is the one Billy and I are expecting for making the first aëroplane flight across the Atlantic."