"It seemed to me as though I should never have the courage to go back to the airplane service since Lieutenant Guyon was killed," remarked Ralph, as he and Alfred were convalescing in the American Hospital, in Paris.

"That is the way I feel about it, too," replied Alfred. "To think that he should have escaped the terrific shower of bullets, while we were coming down, to be killed by having the machine hit the ground, the way it did, makes me feel so sad that I sometimes wonder whether it is really so."

"I suppose the only thing we can do now is to go home; and, still, that doesn't seem to be the right thing, just now," replied Ralph.

"No; I am not in favor of that; suppose we go to England,—anywhere, or anything except that which will remind us of poor Guyon," answered Alfred, as he sat in the huge chair and slowly nodded his head.

At the outbreak of the war Alfred and Ralph were on the way from southern Germany to Antwerp in an auto, accompanied by a Belgian chauffeur, where they were pursued by the Germans near the frontier. They escaped for a time, but were afterwards arrested by the Germans and finally liberated. On their way to Antwerp they took part with the Belgians in resisting the advances of the foe. Reaching Antwerp, they escaped with the Belgian army, at the time the city was besieged, and after some adventures, crossed the northern part of Belgium and reached Dunkirk on the Channel.

From that point, in the endeavor to reach Paris, they had some stirring exploits, which tested their metal on many occasions.

From the time they left Belgian territory it had been their wish to join the aviation corps, and this wish was gratified after they had left Paris and made their way to the eastern part of France. The corps to which they belonged was stationed at Verdun, the most vigorous outpost of the fighting line.

There they were constantly engaged during a full year of most intrepid warfare. They owed their success in joining the corps as actual combatants to a peculiar incident. Before reaching the Verdun camp they had met Lieutenant Guyon, attached to the station at Bar-le-Duc, and with him they made numerous flights, especially in the work of testing machines. On one occasion the lieutenant, who was the victim of a weak heart, was attacked with the disease while aloft, and the boys piloted the machine to earth in safety, notwithstanding the excitement caused by the sudden pitching of the machine. It was sufficient to show that the boys were made of the right stuff, and the officer appreciated their bravery.

Thereafter, the boys were his constant companions, flying with him on many occasions and engaging with him in some of the most brilliant encounters in the air with German aviators. The time came, however, when, after fighting three of the swiftest and most notable German aeroplanes, both of the boys were wounded. In the effort of the lieutenant to bring the badly crippled machine to earth, it was impossible to prevent the catastrophe which followed. The lieutenant and one of the boys were thrown from the machine, and the officer died from the effect of internal injuries within a week.

The wounds of the boys were severe, and they were held at the base hospital for weeks before their condition was such as to permit them to be sent to the Paris Hospital. At the time of the foregoing conversation they had been convalescing for a month. The death of their friend was a terrible blow to them, so severe that, as indicated by their conversation, they did not feel like participating in any more airship work.

"I suppose we shall always have a feeling that there is nothing like flying," said Ralph, as he mused over their experiences that evening.

"It is all right, and I hope to do a great deal of flying after the war is over, but I suppose we might as well make up our minds to give it up for good at this time," replied Alfred.

It was really a relief that the final decision had come, for the feeling of reverence was so strong for their dead friend that it seemed as though something would be wrong to go up in an airship without him.

"When shall we start?" said Ralph the next morning.

"As soon as they give us the discharge," replied Alfred. "You know no one is permitted to leave the hospital until the doctor gives his certificate."

A week thereafter they were informed by the nurse that the doctor had prepared a certificate to the effect that both were able to leave. In one way this was very gratifying, but they could not forget the tender care which had been bestowed on them from the moment they became patients there.

The certificates were finally handed to them, and, going to their rooms, they sadly packed up the few things which had accumulated. As they passed out and marched down between the rows of cots, with the packages on their backs, every patient greeted them. The history of the boys had reached every one long before this time, so they were not permitted to go without the usual wishes.

"Sorry to see you go, but glad you are good as ever!" "Give them fits this time;" "Send the Boches my compliments," said another. "Where are you bound for this time?" cried a voice, from across the room. Every remark, in fact, indicating that they were expected to return to the fighting line.

The emotions awakened by the greetings and the good wishes were too deep to dispel the idea. They could not, in the presence of the enthusiastic men all about them, say that they had enough of the fighting game, as every one called it. It made them feel as though something was wrong, and as they neared the door they almost made a bound for it.

As they walked down the steps, Ralph looked at Alfred with a peculiar expression on his face. Alfred turned away, but suddenly wheeled around.

"Well, are we going back?" he asked with startling suddenness.

"I felt awfully sheepish; didn't you?" asked Ralph.

"No; I felt like a coward. Now when I think of it I don't remember of a single fellow who left the hospital since we have been here who ever suggested that he wasn't going back," replied Alfred.

"That's a fact; well, I'm going back, but not, in the airship service," said Ralph. "No; I couldn't do that; anything but flying."

"Hello!" cried a voice behind them. "Out for good, are you? Well, sorry to lose you; we have a very polite way of bidding our patients good-bye, and I suppose I shall have to spring it on you."

"What is that?" asked Ralph.

"Hope you won't come back again," replied the doctor, with a laugh.

The boys were really unprepared for mirth just at this time, but they managed to assure the doctor that his wishes were reciprocated.

"Which way now?" continued the doctor.

"We don't know," replied Alfred. "We are debating what to do."

"You see," interrupted Ralph, "since Lieutenant Guyon's death we are all broken up, and we have been debating whether or not we can go back into the service."

"Go back?" queried the doctor. "You don't have to go back; you are still in the service. Were you discharged by any one?" he asked, glancing at them keenly.

"Why, no; we never thought of that," said Alfred, looking at Ralph.

"We were just talking about going to England," explained Ralph.

"If you did you would be deserters," replied the doctor with a smile.

"Well, I thought it was singular that when they gave us the certificates they should give us these slips," said Alfred, pulling out the document.

"Of course, you are still in the service, and that is merely an order for the last month's pay."

"I know that, but they didn't say anything about keeping on," said Ralph.

"They don't have to. You are in and the only way to get out is to be invalided, or to get a discharge in a regular way, and then you are free. Of course, we know how you feel about the death of your friend, and no one blames you for your aversion to re-entering the aviation service; but if you really want to get out, the matter can be easily arranged by applying to the American Ambassador, on the ground that you are Americans, and are minors," said the doctor.

The boys looked at each other in silence, and finally Ralph spoke: "I think it would be well to do that; would you mind taking the steps for us?"

"I certainly shall be glad to do so; you have earned an honorable discharge, if any one has," said the doctor.

It thus turned out that three days after leaving the hospital, they received a document at their hotel from the American Embassy. On opening it they found two documents, reciting that Alfred Elton and Ralph Cottrell, native Americans, in the aviation service, were entitled to honorable discharges.

Somehow the news was not enthusiastically received. They glanced at each other for a few moments in silence.

"Does that suit you?" asked Ralph.

"Not in the least," said Alfred with a mournful shake of the head. "I don't think the doctor had any business to get us out of the service."

"But we told him that is what we wanted."

They walked down the rue Rivoli, passed through the place de la Concorde, and reached the Champs Elysees in a half daze. Soldiers were moving hither and thither, vehicles of every description, Red Cross vans, and even cavalry squads were in the procession, but none of them seemed to attract their attention, so completely were they absorbed in the last episode of their lives, and, besides, they had seen so many of the trappings of war that a few more or less did not seem to cause much of a ripple.

But as they slowly moved along the street they stopped, as by a common impulse, to witness a procession of machine guns mounted on smart little autos, followed by two full batteries of field guns. The artillery pieces were mounted on specially made auto trucks, and trailing behind each truck was the caisson.

"Now, that looks like business," said Ralph. "It would have taken from eight to twelve horses to pull the gun and ammunition around. Gee! how soon those fellows could get into action and pull out when the command is given!"

"That would suit me about as well as the flyers, but I suppose we haven't an earthly chance to get in on that," said Alfred ruefully.

"Why not? We can get there if we try hard enough," responded Ralph.

Alfred, with his eyes intent on the fine display before him, did not respond. The discharge, honorable though it was, made a sore spot in the heart of each.

The following morning they awoke earlier than usual. The usual topic was again taken up and discussed.

"Suppose we take a trip to the Artillerie Ecole?" remarked Alfred.

"Where is it?" asked Ralph.

"I don't know, myself, but it is across the river, somewhere. It was founded by the first Napoleon; it was always his hobby," said Alfred.

"Yes, I know. It was he who said that God was always on the side that had the heaviest artillery," responded Ralph.

"I don't think he would say so if he lived in the present time," answered Alfred.

"Why not?" asked Ralph.

"Why, he would have said 'With the most airplanes,'" suggested Alfred.

Ralph laughed at the new idea. "Well, you may be right. I think that if the Allies would put more money and energy into flying machines and less in big guns, there would be more likelihood of success; but I don't suppose we ought to know it all," said Ralph with a sarcastic grin.

When they arrived at the artillery school they were still garbed in the uniforms indicating the service in which they had been engaged. A kindly professor, in the uniform of a colonel, received them with smiles, and he questioned them about their work, and to him they confided their wishes.

"You have been granted honorable discharges, and it would not be prudent for me to make any recommendations, however meritorious your services might have been," he remarked. After some reflection he continued:

"If you are really bent on going back and entering the artillery branch, it would be well to apply to the English officials. They are preparing a tremendous organization in that direction."

"Thank you," said Ralph. "We shall, probably, act upon your suggestion."

Returning to the hotel the question was again considered, and the decision formed to depart for the British sector at once. That afternoon they emerged from the hotel and wended their way to the Gard du Nord, as the great northwest station of Paris is known. There two tickets were purchased for Amiens, a town eighty miles north, by railway, as they considered they would be able, probably, to get into contact with the British forces at that point.

It was late in the morning when the train rolled into the city, and seizing their haversacks, the boys were quickly out of the train and ranged up alongside the military restaurant, awaiting an opportunity to be served. They were informed that a movement of great importance was going on in the sector directly east of that point, as was indicated by the vast number of field pieces, which were constantly being transported by motor and lorry.

It was, really, the beginning of the combined English and French drive in the Somme region, as it is now known. A dapper little French sergeant, who sat between them, volunteered much of the information, which they were eager to obtain, as to the localities and disposition of the forces.

"My battery was detrained at Moreil yesterday, and they will come north and cross the canal about eight kilometers east of the city," he remarked, in response to their questionings.

"That is the branch of the service we are anxious to join," said Alfred.

"What? after having had a hand with the flyers?" he asked, as he looked at them quizzically.

"Yes; our best friend was killed, and then the doctor at the hospital was so much interested in us as to get us discharged," responded Ralph.

"But the artillery is a tough place; you've got to rough it and stand an awful lot of pounding. Why, in the Champagne region, where we came from at the time we made the five-mile sweep, we went ahead so fast that the commissary couldn't keep up with us, and we were in the fight at one stretch for more than seventy hours, and with little to eat at that."

That was said not in a boastful way, but merely to impress on them the hard lot of an artilleryman.

"I suppose that is so," remarked Alfred. "But that's what the infantry men say; and the air pilots think they have a particularly tough time of it, and even the Red Cross people are in danger all the time; but that's to be expected."

"Oh, if you're bound to go, there will be plenty to do, but the chances of getting in are pretty slim unless by regular enlistment."