The petrol tank had
been filled, and, everything being in readiness, they would have nothing
to do but jump aboard and make a quick start.
But Tom was too old a pilot to take things for granted. After that recent
experience with treachery he meant to be doubly careful before risking
their lives in the air. Dunkirk on the Channel was a considerable
distance off; and a drop when several thousand feet above French soil
would go just as hard with them as if it were German territory.
Accordingly he took a survey of the plane from tip to tip of the wings;
looked over the motor, tested every strut and stay, leaving nothing to
Jack, who was fairly quivering with the intensity of his feelings.
Even the longest day must come to an end, and Tom's examination was
finally completed.
"Get aboard!" he told Jack. "We're in great trim to make a record flight
of it. And even the breeze favors us, you notice."
"Let's hope it keeps on as it is," said Jack, quickly; "because an
easterly wind will help carry us on our way to-night!"
"We'll be in luck to have such help," Tom replied. "As a rule, the
passage from Europe to America meets with head winds most of the way. How
are you fixed, Jack?"
"All ready here, Tom."
"Half a minute more, and I'll be the same. Take your last look for some
time, Jack, at the American fighting front. We'll never forget what we've
met with here, and that's a fact."
"But, Tom, we expect to come back again, if all goes well,"
expostulated Jack.
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