“You’re all right,” answered Dave quickly. “Drink this and go back to sleep.”
He held a cup of steaming malted milk to the man’s lips. He drank it slowly. Then, turning an inquiring look on Dave, he murmured, “American?”
In another second he was lost in a sleeping stupor.
Dave twisted himself about and gazed down at the panorama of purple shadows that flitted along beneath them.
“Patient doing well,” he murmured at last. “Going due north by west. Forty miles an hour, I’d say. Beautiful prospects for all of us, Mr. Jarvis. Going right on into a land that does not belong to anybody and where nobody lives. Upon which hundred thousand square miles would you prefer to land?”
Jarvis did not answer. He was dreaming day dreams of other adventures he had had in that strange no man’s land.
Finally he shook himself and mumbled:
“No ’opes. No ’opes.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say it was as bad as that,” smiled Dave. “Let’s have a cup of tea.”
“Yes, let’s,” murmured Jarvis.