“No, he didn’t. He just said he was a fool to tell them to fire three shots when he might have known that if they believed the message they’d just illuminate the field. ‘Maybe they’ll fire ’em anyway,’ he said. ‘I hope they don’t fire ’em up herre,’ I told him. He didn’t pay any attention to me, only kept scowlin’ like he always did when he was especially interested and kept his hands and feet both busy.
“Pretty soon therre were three shots and I guess they knew down therre that everything was all right because when we asked for three shots, that showed we were greenhorns, all right. But they gave ’em anyway. ‘What’ll I do now?’ I said to Slady, for I was feeling mighty glad that we’d got there and that everything was all right. ‘Don’t do anything except shut up,’ he says, so I just watched him like mamma’s good little boy while he pulled and pushed and I could see from the altimetrrre that we werre going down.
“We werren’t over the bright field at all then—he’d got way overr to the west of it or the south of it—I don’t know—and the whole business was up slanting ways again—way up. Then all of a sudden the long buildings began to straighten out and be theirr right shapes again almost, and then just like that (he clapped his hands with a resounding smack by way of illustration) therre they werre away overr at the otherr end of the great big field standing as straight as soldierrs and as squarre as a choppin’-block, and us coming straight towarrds them, and there was a company of Frenchies all lined up waitin’, maybe on account of its seemin’ sorrt of like a kamarad game, and there was fellerrs running out of those long buildings pell-mell towarrds us and it was a regularr kind of a circus. I guess we hit terra-cotta[[7]] too near the buildings maybe, but anyway it was all right. A lieutenant climbed up and took a squint at us and says, ‘Good shot,’ and then there was a crowd all around us—fellerrs that had been asleep, I guess, and a lot morre. The firrst thing I did when I got a chance I went overr and took a look at those long barrns—dorrmitories, they were, and I said to a sarrgeant that was therre, gaping all overr his face, I says, ‘I want to make surre these things ain’t built like accordions, ’cause, believe me, you can twist ’em every which way when you’rre up in the airrrr!’”
“See if you can’t say air,” I said, smiling as he sat back in his wheel chair, quite exhausted.
“Airrrrre,” he repeated.
“Good!” I laughed.
[7]. If he heard any such word as this used, it was probably terra firma.
CHAPTER VII—CHANGING SCENES
I have told you of the last part of this astonishing flight in Archer’s own words, as well as I could transcribe them from my shorthand notes, because I think it gives a very good idea of his own impressions. How Tom Slade felt throughout that exciting night I can only conjecture. You knew him and I did not. Imperturbable, resourceful, strong-willed, a little dash of grim humor (at least, in his relations with the irrepressible Archer), and with the spirit of adventure born in him, I can form some sort of picture of him in my own mind—the scowl, the big mouth, the towhead—but at best he is something of a mystery to me. I can fancy him on that wild night, one hand upon his stabilizing control, the other on the handle by which he communicated his dogged will to the rudders, a keen eye always fixed upon his altimétre or his compass. Sometimes I fancy that I can hear that “soberr, kind of” voice of his. But as I say, you knew him and I did not.