All at once the clouds broke up into huge banks of black and white vapor, and looking down the officer saw that they had been swept back some little distance to the westward. He reasoned that they were about over the spot where the shots had been fired, which proved to be the range of terraced hills on the eastern side of the river.
“I told you we would reach the Rhine before the army did,” he chuckled.
Ping!
A little chip of wicker was neatly snipped from one corner of the basket. Grace Harlowe regarded it questioningly, and grinned.
“I thought you said the war was ended, sir,” she said, glancing over at him.
“Huns!” he replied explosively. “What can one expect?”
“What I am concerned about principally, sir, is what would happen to us if the gas bag were hit by a rifle bullet. Would it be a serious matter for us?”
He nodded.
“We would be obliged to give up our joy ride and go home.”
Ping! Pock!