"See that you are 'going some' at the finish of the race to-morrow," laughed Roque.
"It will be because something breaks if we don't hit the high mark," assured Billy.
"Go over and size up your winged steed," directed Roque, pointing to a hangar across the field. "Show them No. 3"—this to one of the attendants.
"This is no mosquito," announced Billy, after a view of the fine lines of "No. 3."
"Speed there, I tell you, old boy," was Henri's comment as he walked around the rigging, "and carrying armor, too."
In an hour the boys had fully comprehended all the new features of this up-to-the-minute machine. They had been builders themselves and knew a good stroke of the business when they saw it.
Returning across the field, Billy and Henri were introduced to the rival aviators by Roque. The German airmen were a jolly pair, and showed by the professional courtesy they exhibited to the two of their kind that the coming contest was wholly a friendly one, and the results to be of value to the flying corps.
"No. 2 is a little older than your machine," was the greeting of one of the Teuton experts, "but it can hold its own."
Roque, speaking for his champions, gaily disposed of this claim: