“Well, we are looking for some one,” Jack admitted, “though he was not caught in Belgium by the breaking out of the war. On the contrary, this brother of my chum, who is about ten years his senior, must have offered his services to your Government as an experienced aviator, and was accepted because the supply of air pilots just then was not equal to the demand. We have reason to believe he has been serving in that capacity, and done a few pretty daring things along his line of scouting and the like.”
“I have met with dozens of aviators,” she told him. “In fact, for a time it happened that I was attached to a corps particularly assigned to cases of necessity among the pilots of aeroplanes; for you must know they frequently meet with serious accidents aside from the dangers they run while over the enemy’s lines.”
Again did Amos’ head bob up.
“Well, I declare, that’s queer,” he was saying. “I wonder now if you ever did happen to meet my brother.”
“What was his name, for you haven’t even told me yours yet?” the nurse continued, as she gave the boy one of her smiles.
“My name is Amos Turner, and his is Frank, but we’ve learned that when he enlisted he went as Frank Bradford.”
The nurse started, and looked more sharply at the speaker.
“Frank Bradford, you say?” she remarked, quickly.
“Yes, and it’s plain to be seen from the way you act you’ve heard about him,” continued Amos, his interest growing by leaps and bounds.
“I have even met him,” the Red Cross nurse announced. “Yes, more than that, it was my privilege to attend to his trifling hurts after he had returned from one of his most remarkable forays over many miles of hostile territory, doing an immense amount of damage to the German concentration camps, stores, railway stations, and Zeppelin hangars.”