  Next morning Brand, whose time schedule for the day included only a short practice flight in the afternoon, asked permission to cycle over to the Hideout in time for breakfast. Still terribly upset by the losses of yesterday he wished to be among his own people. While breakfast was preparing he told of the sad misadventures resulting from their first patrol flight. “Bad business,” he murmured at the end. “The Fiddler gone, Dave gone, soon our flight will be at an end. “But we’ll fight!” His voice picked up. “We’ll fight to the last man.” For a time after that all were silent. Then Cherry asked, “Brand, did you hear the late news broadcast last night?” “No. What was up?” “The strangest thing happened. It sounds like a miracle. A bright flare, brightest ever seen, hung over a bomber ready to help destroy London, when a single Spitfire plunging down, down, down, loosed a burst of fire at the bomber. Then came a terrible explosion in midair.” “Got him!” Brand’s eyes shone. “But the Spitfire?” “He was blown against a balloon cable. He baled out. He landed on a roof. Then he vanished. Who does that sound like?” “Like Fiddlin’ Johnny,” Brand whispered. “But the Fiddler is dead and so is—” He did not finish for at that moment the door opened. Cherry, who stood facing the door, let out a hoarse whispering cry, then barely missed throwing herself in the new-comer’s arms. “Careful, Cherry,” said a calm voice. “I’ve had a lot of trouble and a heap of luck these last hours. I couldn’t stand much more.” It was Dave. “Dave! Are you really alive?” It was Alice who asked this remarkable question. “Why—yes. I—I think so.” Dave looked from one to the other across the room. “At least that’s the way I like to feel about it.” At this they all burst into a merry laugh and somehow life seemed to begin all over again. “Tell us about it, Dave,” Cherry commanded. “Wait. I’ll have to phone headquarters.” Dave looked about for a phone. Then he remembered, there was no phone in the Hideout. “We’ve had the phone down at the house repaired,” Alice said. “I—I’ll be back for a cup of coffee.” Dave was away on the run. * * * * * * * * At that moment the Commander at the airdrome had just dropped to a place beside the young Lord in the squadron mess room. “Applegate,” he said soberly, “why did you do it?” “I had to.” There was a stubborn look on the young Lord’s usually cheerful face. “Why?” The Commander’s eyes were on him. “It got on my nerves, those Jerries bombing women and children every night and nothing being done about it.” The young Lord did not look up. “So you decided to commit suicide by doing something?” The Commander’s voice was low. “Well, I’m here.” A smile played about Applegate’s lips. “But you wouldn’t be again. Not one time in a million. Wars are not won that way. “Look here, Applegate,” the Commander’s voice softened a little. “I’ve always liked you, been proud of you. You were not raised like the rest of us. When the war came you joined up and you’ve played your part like a man. “This fighting in the air is different.” The Commander paused to look away. “It’s a little like the old days that Walter Scott wrote about, Ivanhoe, Kenilworth, Richard the Lionhearted, all that. Each man got him a sword and fought it out with the first enemy he met. “It’s the same here in a way. You can’t always fight in formation. But you do have to fight under orders. You must, I must, everyone but the King must. And he’s not so free either. “Last night,” his voice fell, “you took your ship without orders and did a stretch over London. Why?” “I—I couldn’t stand myself.” The young Lord’s head was bowed. “Going out with five men, coming back with three. Not getting the man I was after. Losing the fellows we all love. What kind of fighting is that?” “It comes to all of us.” The commander’s voice was gentle now. “Once over in France— “Wait!” He sprang up. “There’s the phone.” In the corner the young Lord heard the Commander exclaim into the receiver, “What? Who? Say! That’s great! How’s that? Yes. Certainly. As long as you like.” The Commander’s voice was deep with emotion as turning back to the young Lord he said: “That was Dave. He’s back safe. He’s over at Ramsey Farm. They’re just having their biscuits, marmalade and coffee. Want you to join them.” The young Lord stood up. He tried to speak but failed. With a bow and a salute he left the room. Three minutes later his big car was burning up the road leading to Ramsey Farm. |
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