“Most of ’em haven’t the foundation to start with,” rejoined Bob. “It takes a trained mind to get away with all a man has to learn before he ever starts to fly. Then again, with all he knows he may never develop into a flyer. It may not be in him to make good. It’s a great game, but I’ll bet it carries a lot of disappointed sore-heads along with it. I’d never want to tackle it. I’d sure be one of ’em.”
The tardy arrival of Ignace who had been on detail in the mess kitchen of late, turned the conversation back to the subject of the Twinkle Twins themselves. The Pole was duly regaled with an account of the afternoon’s adventure, to which he listened in rapt silence. Much to the surprise of his bunkies, he earnestly begged his Brothers not to introduce him to the illustrious twins on the morrow. “You no bring here,” he entreated.
“What’s the matter with you, Iggy? They won’t bite you.” Jimmy finally grew a trifle impatient. “We’re going to bring ’em up here on purpose to meet you, ’cause you can’t go to the ‘Y’ with us to meet them. Do you get me? That goes.”
“So-o-o!” Ignace looked desperate but made no further objection. In fact he said little more that evening. Apparently losing all interest in his bunkies’ new acquaintances, he retired to his cot and occupied himself in a laborious study of Roger’s manual, which he had at last begun to “un’erstan’.”
When, at precisely two o’clock on Sunday afternoon the twin guests arrived and were presently conducted in triumph to Company E’s barrack by their boyish hosts, Ignace was missing from the squad room. Nor did he put in an appearance until just before time for the evening mess, at least half an hour after his bunkies had bade their visitors a reluctant farewell and watched them drive off down the company street in their racer.
“You’re a nice one!” greeted Jimmy in pretended disgust. “Where have you been keeping yourself? Maybe you were ashamed to be seen with us! What do you mean by quitting us cold? You’re a fine sort of Brother, you are.”
Jimmy’s energetic salutation brought a dull flush to the Pole’s cheeks. His china-blue eyes showed real distress. He gulped, sighed, shifted from one foot to the other, then faltered out: “Never I shame to go by you an’ Bob an’ Roger. So have I the respet to my Brothar. Such gran’ fren’ see me, think I no much, think mebbe you no much, too. You tell you have ’nother Brothar, all right, they don’t see. They see——” Ignace made a gesture expressive of his lowly opinion of himself.
“Well of all the modest violets, you’re the flower of the bunch!” was Bob’s satirical tribute.
“You’ve a nice opinion of us, Iggy.” Roger’s twitching lips belied his reproach.