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Page 21
"Frenchmen, good and true. I can see them for myself."
He moved his hand, and in a few moments John heard hissing and purring
near, as if great birds were flying to meet him. The outlines of the
hovering planes showed by his side, and Lannes called in a loud voice to
shrouded and visored men.
"Philip Lannes and his comrade, John Scott, with a message from Paris
to the commander!" he exclaimed.
He was his old self again, erect, intense, dramatic. He evidently
expected the name Philip Lannes to be known well to them, and it was, as
a cheer followed high in air.
"Now, John," said Lannes, "Be careful! Your hardest task is before you,
to land. But I've noticed that with you the harder the task the better
you do it. Make for that wide green space to the left of the stream and
come down as slowly and gently as you can. Just slide down."
John had a fleeting glimpse of thousands of faces looking upward, but he
held a true course for the grassy area, and with a multitude looking on
his nerve was never steadier. Amid great cheering the _Arrow_ came
safely to rest at her appointed place. John and Lannes stepped forth, as
an elderly man in a quiet uniform came forward to meet them.
Lannes, holding himself stiffly erect, drew a paper from his pocket and
extended it to the general.
"A letter, sir, from the commander-in-chief of all our armies," he said,
saluting proudly.
As the general took the letter, Lannes' knees bent beneath him, and he
sank down on his face.
CHAPTER III
IN THE FRENCH CAMP
John rushed forward and grasped his comrade. The sympathetic hands of
others seized him also, and they raised him to his feet, while an
officer gave him stimulant out of a flask, John meanwhile telling who
his comrade was. Lannes' eyes opened and he flushed through the tan of
his face.
"Pardon," he said, "it was a momentary weakness. I am ashamed of myself,
but I shall not faint again."
"You've been shot," said the officer, looking at his sanguinary cap and
face.
"So I have, but I ask your pardon for it. I won't let it occur again."
Lannes was now standing stiffly erect, and his eyes shone with pride, as
the general, a tall, elderly man, rapidly read the letter that Philip
had delivered with his own hand. The officer who had spoken of his wound
looked at him with approval.
"I've heard of you, Philip Lannes," he said, "you're the greatest flying
man in the world."
Lannes' eyes flashed now.
"You do me too much honor," he said, "but it was not I who brought our
aeroplane here. It was my American friend, John Scott, now standing
beside me, who beat off an attack upon us and who then, although he had
had no practical experience in flying, guided the machine to this spot.
Born an American, he is one of us and France already owes him much."
John raised his hand in protest, but he saw that Lannes was enjoying
himself. His dramatic instinct was finding full expression. He had not
only achieved a great triumph, but his best friend had an important
share in it. There was honor for both, and his generous soul rejoiced.
Both John and Lannes stood at attention until the general had read the
letter not once but twice and thrice. Then he took off his glasses,
rubbed them thoughtfully a moment or two, replaced them and looked
keenly at the two. He was a quiet man and he made no gestures, but John
met his gaze serenely, read his eyes and saw the tremendous weight of
responsibility back of them.
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