Jack had apparently been a little anxious concerning this part of the programme. Considerably relieved, he thrust out his hand and squeezed the fingers of his comrade heartily as he went on to say:
"Ever since we concluded to offer our services to France, when we felt satisfied we had learned the rudiments of flying, the idea has taken a firm root in my mind; and, Tom, I'd be terribly disappointed if anything happened to break up our pet plan."
"No more than I would, Jack. You know my passion for being in the air. And now that this cause for hating the Germans has come along, it's added fire to my zeal. I tell you it would have to be something pretty serious that could cause me to back down at this late stage."
"Then," said Jack triumphantly, "we're booked for France, if only the steamship people will let us take passage. And from all accounts, they're not likely to put any obstacle in our way, knowing what our motive is and that we are able to pay their price."
"But surely by now I ought to have heard something to that effect from the New York agent I wrote to," argued Tom.
"Better try again," suggested his companion. "Letters sometimes go astray, you know, and he may never have received it."
