“I don’t think you’ll have any occasion to fear Captain Baron Von Richtofen and his Red Squadron of Death,” chuckled Marlow. “If they ever get after you, son, just pull off the same trick, and it’ll mean a safe getaway.”
Albert clambered out of the machine, and, as though wishing to escape further attention, hurried rather unsteadily toward a camion standing by the side of the field. But such a sensational and unexpected event was not to be dismissed in so unceremonious a fashion. All the way to the waiting vehicle the former soda-water dispenser was obliged to listen to enthusiastic comments and reply to numerous queries.
And so it continued all the way to the Hotel d’Amerique, and even at the supper table later on.
Then it was that Sid Marlow started other demonstration, by exclaiming, in his big, booming voice:
“Sometimes a chap has no right to be modest. I’ve traveled over some pretty rough trails, fellows, and early discovered that modesty is one of the biggest stumbling blocks in the path of success. That’s the reason I haven’t any.”
“We’ve noticed it,” chirped Roy Mittengale.
“You’ll notice it some more, too, when I equal Albert’s record. Now, boys, I call upon our young friend for a speech. Who seconds the motion?”
Everybody did, and with an enthusiasm which brought warm flushes to the face of the embarrassed Albert.
He tried to resist, too, when those nearest at hand forced him to his feet. This time, however, the crowd was determined. They brushed aside the boy’s protestations, and presently Drugstore, finding that there was absolutely no chance to escape the trying ordeal, began to make a few stammering remarks.
For a moment the eyes of all in the room fixed intently upon him threatened to stop altogether his halting words. And then, suddenly, to the surprise of all, he collected his scattered wits and pulled himself together. It was as if a new spirit had entered into him. The flush left his cheeks and the tremolo in his voice was replaced by a firm and even tone.