"My boy, this well-trained homing pigeon will, indeed, be valuable to the War Department. Tell me, what shall I give you for your bird? Name your price!"
"My Chico is not for sale!" the boy protested stoutly, "It is my wish to give his services to my country!"
"Think carefully, the Department is ready to pay well for this branch of air-line service."
But Andrea shook his head, "No, signore, it is for Italy. There is but one thing I would make sure of." He paused.
"And what is that?" the great official inquired kindly. He was beginning to realize that this was no ordinary relation which existed between the lad and his pigeon.
"Please, I would ask that when the war is ended, I may have my bird again; that is, that is—" and the boy's eyes were misty as he spoke.
"To be sure, to be sure," the officer cleared his throat. "I'll see that you have a written voucher to that effect."
He touched a bell and gave the order in a business-like tone to the respectful soldier who at once made his appearance.
"We have a valuable addition to our air messengers in the shape of this well-trained homing pigeon. Have you room for him in the next consignment that is sent to the front?"
"Si, signore, one will go to-morrow. The baskets have four compartments and there is one place still vacant." With that he fixed the metal anklet, and Chico was thereby enrolled as number 7788 in the air brigade of the Italian army.