CHAPTER VIII
OVER THE ENEMY'S LINES
"I say, Tom, it looks like a poor day for flying I'm afraid," Jack called out in the chill of the early dawn the next morning, he having been the first to get out of bed and step over to the window of their sleeping room.
It was of course in the villa placed at the disposal of the escadrille, many miles back of the first line of trenches.
Tom, however, did not bother his head about the weather to any appreciable extent.
"It's likely to turn out a fair day for work," he told his chum, in his cheery way, as he followed Jack to the window. "You know that's happened lots of times. So far we've been lucky enough not to get caught in a storm while aloft. Yes, I can already see that there isn't going to be a stiff breeze; and what would a sprinkle of rain amount to?"
"I suppose the thing has to be pulled off, no matter what the weather is," mused Jack, as he proceeded to dress, since breakfast had been ordered at an unusually early hour that morning.
"Well, the High Command has made all
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