“Don’t you see anything familiar about him?”
George, after taking a long and earnest look at the blue bloused figure, nodded his head.
“Yes; to be sure. It’s the peasant who’s been visiting our escadrille.”
“Correct, old chap. And say, did you ever notice how chummy he’s gotten to be with Jason Hamlin? Funny combination, that—a college highbrow and an humble, downtrodden tiller of the soil. By the way, Vicky Gilbert certainly has said some funny things to Jasy.”
“Have you found out yet what the scrap is all about?”
Peur Jamais pondered an instant before replying, and then said, slowly:
“From what Vicky said it looks as if he thought Hamlin was, or rather wasn’t—— No, that he was, I should say——” And here the young combat pilot broke off abruptly, to further remark, after a few moments of earnest reflection: “No—I reckon I’d better wait until further developments. One day I happened to say a few words to one of the chaps about it when along waltzed the captain, who had overheard; and he said to me: ‘What do you mean?’ Crickets! It was awful!” Bobby began to grin broadly. “It reminded me of the time I used to get hauled up in the principal’s room to explain certain things that had happened in the classroom. But, I say; let’s skip after the old boy, and interview him.”
“What’s the good?” asked George.
“None at all. But what’s the good of staying here? Coming?”
“First tell me what the captain said.”