"I'll tell you, Andy. We ought to keep following after them as far as we can, and in that way learn where they drop. If we get a chance to send down an occasional message to be sent on to Bloomsbury so much the better. I've written several such out, and have the cord to tie them to weights. Given a chance, when we're passing over some town perhaps we can get one such message sent on home. Even that would tell them where we were, and what the chances are."
"Great game, Frank! Suppose you let me have those messages, and I'll be amusing myself getting the same ready to heave, when you say the word. We c'n play that this is a war game, and we've been sent out to drop bombs on the fortifications of the enemy. We've done it with rocks, and we can throw pretty straight; so it seems to me we ought to get some sort of fun out of it all around."
Frank told him where he could find the written messages in his outer pocket; and for some time Andy was quiet, busying himself in fastening some sort of anchor to each piece of paper, sufficient to carry it earthward, despite the breeze that at the time might be blowing.
All at once Andy noticed that they were going quite slowly in comparison with the pace they had lately been "hitting up."
"What's happening, Frank?" he exclaimed, almost alarmed lest some accident had befallen the reliable little motor, which up to now had never failed them, no matter how great the call upon its resources. "Why are we slowing up? Is there something gone wrong, and must we own up to being beaten?"
"Look ahead at the biplane!" was all that Frank replied.
CHAPTER XIX
DROPPING A "BOMB!"