"You are in Brittany, province of Finistère. Didn't you know it?"
The air-officer seemed astounded. Presently he said: "The dirty weather foxed us. Then that fellow out yonder winged us. I was glad enough to see a coast line."
"Did you fall?"
"No; we controlled our landing pretty well."
"Where did you land?"
There was a second's hesitation; the airman looked at Wayland, glanced at his crippled leg.
"Out there near some woods," he said. "My pilot's there now trying to patch up.... You are not French, are you?"
"American."
"Oh! A—volunteer, I presume."
"Foreign Legion—2d."