“What is on our list to-day?”
Henri pretended to look for answer to his chum’s question in a worse-for-wear notebook.
“Only a dinner engagement,” he gravely stated, “and that’s four hours to come.”
“Here comes Lieutenant Moppa,” observed Billy; “maybe he can prescribe something besides a rest cure.”
“You might suggest, Buddy, that we all go over and knock a chip off the old town.”
Henri was referring to Constantinople.
“Do your own suggesting,” advised Billy, rising to greet the Russian officer. “We were just talking, sir, about the effect of nothing-to-do on the nerves.”
“How long have you been at peace with yourselves and the world?” laughingly queried the lieutenant.
“I think about nine hours now,” replied Billy, looking at his battered silver watch.
“You will be going to seed, I am sure, if this state of things continues. By the way,” continued the officer, “I was about to tell you that the big airship is going into commission for a run around to the Gulf of Enos, backing up the British move on the Turkish port there. Heavy bombardment is already in progress, I am told, and we propose to show our allies that all the shaking up of the enemy is not to be performed by the land and water forces. As you know, we can put a choice lot of bomb droppers into the game. The largest aeroplane in the world did not come over here just for a show.”