"Hullo, old man!" he exclaimed. "What have you there—a Uhlan helmet? And what's the matter with your bike?"
Kenneth explained, and afterwards had to repeat his story in French for the benefit of the others.
"I will help you to straighten the handle-bars," volunteered one of the Belgian cyclists, who was a motor-repairer by trade. "Meanwhile, if you are desirous of sending that helmet to your friends in England, you will do well to pack it up at once. There is a dispatch leaving for Brussels within half an hour."
"I wonder what the governor will say to this," observed Kenneth as he directed the bulky package. "My first trophy! Goodness only knows when we shall hear from home."
The lads had already written to their respective parents informing them of the drastic step they had taken, but, owing to the dislocation of the postal service, no reply had been forthcoming, and they had hardly expected one.
It took two hours' hard work in the blazing sunshine for Kenneth and his Belgian friend to set the motorcycle to rights.
"If I hadn't been so inconsiderate as to throw that bottle of soda-water away we might have had a decent drink," observed Kenneth as he fanned his perspiring brow.
"Never mind," rejoined Rollo. "You might have drunk it as soon as I gave you the bottle; in which case I don't suppose you would have felt the benefit of it now."
"I don't suppose I would," agreed Kenneth grimly.