“A comet couldn’t have gotten out of your way,” retorted Don, smiling faintly. “But why did you try to butt me off the earth?”
“I didn’t do it. It was the ‘penguin,’” said Dan. “I think I must have hurt the old bird’s feelings by running over a bad place in the ground; or else it got tired of life and decided to quit. And that’s where it isn’t like the Hagens. What train are you going home on to-night?”
“I’ll have to get a few more caressing touches from the earth before I do that,” said Don.
The boy was feeling very shaky; his strength seemed to have so far deserted him that it was with difficulty that he managed to stand erect. The pains and aches he was experiencing were so great as to still make him wonder if, after all, he had not sustained some injury which might keep him out of the game for days—that was the only thought bothering him now. Yet he was deeply thankful that the terrific smash-up had had no worse consequences.
Although it was a very important matter to the two principals, the incident was so trivial in the eyes of the older students of the flying field that as soon as it was discovered that neither of the boys was seriously injured they began to retrace their steps.
The moniteur rather sternly demanded from Dan Hagen an explanation of the cause of the mishap.
“Tell him there isn’t any explanation,” said Dan, when Don had translated the instructor’s remarks. “It just happened—that’s all. I reckon one of the great joys in this game is that it keeps a chap so perpetually thankful that he’s still alive that it makes up for everything else. Say, Don, where do you feel the worst?”
“All over,” replied Don.
“Hadn’t both of you better get back to the barracks?” asked George Glenn, solicitously.
Don almost indignantly declined the suggestion.