There's going to be hard fighting. I realize that. But this is the
beginning of the end, as I see it."
"That's what! Now, instead of tinkering over our machines, let's
see the commandant and---"
Jack motioned to his chum to cease talking. Then he pointed up to
the sky. There was a little speck against the blue, a speck that
became larger as the two Americans watched.
"One of our fliers coming bark," remarked Tom in a low voice.
"I hope he brings more good news," returned Jack.
The approaching airman came rapidly nearer, and then the throngs
that had gathered about the headquarters building to discuss the
news of the arrival of the first American forces turned to watch the
return of the flier.
"It's Du Boise," remarked Tom, naming an intrepid French fighter.
He was one of the "aces," and had more than a score of Boche
machines to his credit. "He must have been out 'on his own,'
looking for a stray German."
"Yes, he and Leroy went out together," assented Jack. "But I don't
see Harry's machine," and anxiously he scanned the heavens.
Harry Leroy was, like Tom and Jack, an American aviator who had
lately joined the force in which the two friends had rendered such
valiant service. Tom and Jack had known him on the other side--had,
in fact, first met and become friendly with him at a flying school
in Virginia. Leroy had suffered a slight accident which had put him
out of the flying service for a year, but he had persisted, had
finally been accepted, and was welcomed to France by his chums who
had preceded him.
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