"'Dear Mother,--Enclosed please find fifteen shillings. I cannot.
"'Your affectionate son, John.'"
And the joke was reckoned so good in our squadron that we raised the money for the poor chap, and he sent it after all."
"Fall in!" came a stentorian shout, as Brat finished telling this yarn. And the men of Number Seven doubled up to fall in on the left, and answer their names to the early morning roll, for another day had begun, and more than one man of that small crowd was to prove himself a hero before another sun should come up out of the German lines beyond Ginchy, and set in blood-red clouds behind the British lines.
Some two hours after that, as the men busy about the labours of the day, which in an aerodrome, under active service conditions, range from the rigging of a defective aeroplane, mending struts, replacing controls, preparing ammunition dumps, to the taking down of a R.A.F. engine, and while "A" Flight was returning from a reconnaissance, and "C" Flight was preparing to go up and over the lines on a bombing raid, Grenfell, the orderly officer at the aerodrome 'phone, received a broken message from somewhere near Ginchy.
The message had to do with the crash of a British 'plane somewhere in front or just behind the first line trenches, but a terrific bombardment being concentrated on the place at the time the message suddenly ceased, as though the wires had been broken, or the speaker at the other end put out of action.
A minute later Snorty came dashing down towards the spot where Number Seven squad were working.
"Where is Brat?" he shouted.
"Over there, sir, in the transport shed," replied Cowdie.
"Fetch him at once!"
And Cowdie dashed off to find his chum, bringing him back a moment later.