“Sorry we can’t save your bus, mister,” remarked the other.
“Don’t worry about the plane,” was Tom’s answer. “There are more where that came from. And I may be able to save it at that.”
“It would take a tank to yank that bus out,” said the short man.
“What do you know about tanks?” asked Tom, as he took up a pole from the bottom of the punt and helped the two rescuers push the craft toward the solid point of land whence the welcome hails had come.
“I used to manicure one on the other side when we had the Big Fuss,” was the answer, and Tom knew the man had been in one of the ponderous tank machines of the World War.
“I hate to leave that bus,” sighed the tall man, with a look back at the now almost submerged plane. “She’s pretty, but you had some trouble, didn’t you?” he asked. “Sounded to me like your motor died on you.”
“It did,” admitted Tom. “And I couldn’t straighten out.”
“She was nose diving when my buddy and me saw you as we were riding along in our machine,” went on the tall man.
“Nose diving is right,” conceded Tom. “But I got her straightened out just in time.”
“But not enough to zoom up,” went on the other, and Tom was sure the man knew whereof he spoke.