This was the opportunity he wanted. By keeping alongside the guns and caissons he could defy any hidden danger. If there were spies waiting to waylay him in some rather lonely spot, just as they had Pudge on the preceding night, the presence of those young khaki-clad warriors seated on the gun carriages and ammunition carts would foil them.
There was no trouble. Possibly Frank might not have been held up even though he chose to take the walk without any protection; but when in doubt it was always his policy to “play safe.”
When he again found himself in the hangar, the others were eager to hear what he had promised to tell them.
“You’ve been having another scrape of some sort, like as not,” ventured Billy, pretending to look morose, as though he begrudged his comrade that privilege while he and Pudge were only sitting there killing time.
Frank thereupon related how he had been drawn into rendering assistance when the said-to-be wife of an apparent citizen of Dunkirk, who spoke excellent English without a French accent, appeared to faint close to the door of her own home.
The other boys were thrilled by what seemed like a narrow escape on the part of their comrade.
“Ganders and gridirons, Frank!” exploded Pudge after listening with distended eyes to the account given by the returned chum. “That was a narrow squeak for you, as sure as anything.”
“Yes,” added Billy, “they had it all laid out to trap you. If you’d dared to step inside that open door I reckon you’d have been tapped over the head, and when you came to again it would be to find yourself in some old damp and moldy cellar. I give you credit for tumbling to their smart game, Frank.”
“Bayous and bullfrogs, they certainly do want to get hold of this bully machine of ours the worst kind, and that’s a fact!” spluttered Pudge.
“But tell us about the Major, and what he agreed to do?” asked Billy.