“Come, Jack,” invited Bill, “and de Garros, breakfast with us and tell us about it.”
So, between mouthfuls, Jack related his experiences with Radwig’s party of Uhlans. Affectionately he placed his hand on de Garros’ arm, and soberly said:
“I owe my life to you. If it hadn’t been for you——”
“It was sure luck, the greatest ever,” declared Tom Jukes.
“Fine stuff—fooled the enemy—shot at sunrise—others get shot instead—up in the air—down again—all safe—at last—hurray!” cried Pottle, capering about wildly.
“I can’t think it was luck,” said Jack gravely. “I think there was a higher power than that concerned in it.”
“You are right,” agreed Bill.
“Read—ee—mon ami, you ’ave not forget zee dream,” slyly remarked de Garros.
Jack turned scarlet. Somehow he felt that it was not very manlike to have even bothered with nightmares.
“What’s this?” demanded Bill.