"You see!" Cousin Emile's eyebrows and shoulders went into amused play.
"They're a lucky pair of twins," was Bob's hearty rejoinder.
"Not yet," demurred Jack. "Wait until we're 'aces.'"
"And after that 'Communiqués,'" added Jerry soulfully.
"To be an 'ace' you have to kill five Boche flyers, and bring down their planes," explained Jack. "Ten is the number to be a 'Communiqué.' Emile is four times a 'Communiqué' and five to boot. He's clipped forty-five Boche birds of their wings and lives. Some record! He has medals enough to cover his chest, only he won't wear 'em. He's the 'Flying Terror of France,' all right."
With one accord the Khaki Boys fixed wondering eyes on the "Flying Terror of France." His sky-blue uniform flaunted but two of the many emblems of valor he had daringly won.
His honors appeared not to trouble him in the least. He merely smiled and said in his inimitable way:
"I have been fortunate. It cannot continue." He shrugged faintly. "Our career in the air is, of a truth, brief. The danger is great, but the reward greater. When we have, as the English say, 'done our bit,' France has many more ready to replace us. That is, indeed, of a satisfaction."
A momentary silence reigned as the aviator ceased speaking. His calm disregard of self brought home anew to the Khaki Boys the gallant, indomitable spirit of France in the great war. Each cherished the secret hope that he, too, should never be found wanting in the high quality of loyalty to the cause which Voissard possessed to such a degree.
Apparently desirous of leading the conversation away from himself, Cousin Emile began asking the Khaki Boys numerous interested questions concerning their training in America. Though his eyes frequently rested on Jimmy, to whom he had taken a decided fancy, he slighted no one of them.