"The pilot will take only a look or two at the flag. Then, if we don't hail him, he'll sail swiftly back to the west."
"For good reasons too. The air here is chiefly in the German sphere of influence, and if I were in his place I'd take to my heels too at a single glance."
"That's what he's doing now. He's flying past the flag just as one of the Germans did. He leans over to take a look at it, can't make out what it means, glances back apprehensively toward the German quarter of the heavens, and now he's sliding like a streak through the blue for French air."
"So near and yet so far! A friend in the air just over our heads, and we had to let him go. Well, he couldn't have done us any good."
"No, he couldn't, and he's gone back so fast that he's out of sight already, but another and different inhabitant of the air is coming out of the south. See, the shape off there, Mr. Scott. Wait until it comes nearer, and I think I can tell you what it is. Now it's made out the flag and is steering for it."
"What class of plane is it, Weber? Can you tell that yet?"
"Yes. It's an Esnault-Pelterie, an invention of a young Frenchman. It's a monoplane with flexible, warped wings. It's made of steel tubes, welded together, and it has two wheels, one behind the other for contact with the ground."
"I noticed something queer in its appearance. It's the wheels. I don't call this machine any great beauty, but it seems to cut the air well. I suppose we'd better treat it as we did the Bleriot—let it go as it came, none the worse and none the wiser?"
"I think so. But we have no other choice! That flyer is a suspicious fellow and he isn't taking any chances. He's come fairly close to the flag, and now he's sheering off at an angle."
"I don't blame him. He probably has something more important to do than to unravel the meaning of a flag in a tree top."