"Well, here we are at the hangar, and the _Arrow_ will make you feel
better. You're like the born horseman whose spirits return when he's on
the back of his best runner."

"I suppose I am. The air is now my proper medium, and anyway, John, my
gallant Yankee, for a man like me the best tonic is always action,
action, and once more action."

The _Arrow_ was in beautiful condition, smooth, polished and fitted with
everything that was needed. They put on their flying clothes, drew down
their visors, stowed their automatics in handy pockets, and took their
seats in the aeroplane. Then, as he put his hand on the steering rudder
and the attendants gave the _Arrow_ a mighty shove, the soul of Lannes
swelled within him.

They rose slowly and then swiftly over Paris, and his troubles were left
behind him on the earth. Up, up they went, in a series of graceful
spirals, and although John, at first, felt the old uneasy feeling, it
soon departed. He too exulted in their mounting flight and the rush of
cold air.

"Use your glasses, John," said Lannes, "and tell me what you can see."

"Some captive balloons, five other planes, all our own, and on the
horizon, where the German army lies, several black specks too vague and
indefinite for me to make out what they are, although I've no doubt
they're German flyers."

"I'd like to have a look at the Germans, but our way leads elsewhere.
What else do you see, John?"