Claude had seen a captured crane, tied by its leg to a hencoop, behave exactly like that among Mahailey’s chickens; hold its wings to its sides, and move its head about quickly and glare.
“I suppose you have friends in London?” he asked.
“Rather!” the aviator replied with feeling.
“Do you like it better than Paris?”
“I shouldn’t imagine anything was much better than London. I’ve not been in Paris; always went home when I was on leave. They work us pretty hard. In the infantry and artillery our men get only a fortnight off in twelve months. I understand the Americans have leased the Riviera,—recuperated at Nice and Monte Carlo. The only Cook’s tour we had was Gallipoli,” he added grimly.
Victor had gone a good way toward acquiring an English accent, the boys thought. At least he said ‘necess’ry’ and ‘dysent’ry’ and called his suspenders ‘braces.’ He offered Claude a cigarette, remarking that his cigars were in his lost trunk.
“Take one of mine. My brother sent me two boxes just before we sailed. I’ll put a box in your bunk next time I go down. They’re good ones.”
The young man turned and looked him over with surprise. “I say, that’s very decent of you! Yes, thank you, I will.”
Claude had tried yesterday, when he lent Victor some shirts, to make him talk about his aerial adventures, but upon that subject he was as close as a clam. He admitted that the long red scar on his upper arm had been drilled by a sharpshooter from a German Fokker, but added hurriedly that it was of no consequence, as he had made a good landing. Now, on the strength of the cigars, Claude thought he would probe a little further. He asked whether there was anything
