The Flying Legion | Page 8

smoothed themselves. His lips smiled, though gravely. His color had deepened. His whole personality, that had been sad and tired, now had become inspired with a profound and soul-felt happiness.
"Gentlemen all, soldiers and good men," said he, slowly. "In a general way you know the purpose of this meeting. I am not given to oratory. I do not intend making any speech to you.
"We are all ex-fighters. Life, once filled with daring and adventure, has become stale, flat, and unprofitable. The dull routine of business and of social life is Dead Sea fruit to our lips--dust and ashes. It cannot hold or entertain us.
"By this I do not mean that war is good, or peace bad. For the vast majority of men, peace is normal and right. But there must be always a small minority that cannot tolerate ennui; that must seek risks and daring exploits; that would rather lay down their lives, today, in some man-sized exploit, than live twenty-five years longer in the dull security of a humdrum rut.
"Such men have always existed and probably always will. We are all, I believe, of that type. Therefore you will all understand me. I will understand you. And each of you will understand the rest.
"Major Bohannan and I have chosen you and have invited you here because we believe every man in this room is precisely the kind of man I have been defining. We believe you are like ourselves, dying of boredom, eager for adventure; and willing to undergo military discipline, swear secrecy, pledge honor and risk life itself, provided the adventure be daring enough, the reward promising enough. If there is anyone here present who is unwilling to subscribe to what I have said, so far, let him withdraw."
No one stirred. But a murmur arose, eager, delighted:
"Go on! Go on--tell us more!"
"Absolute obedience to me is to be the first rule," continued the Master. "The second is to be sobriety. There shall be no drinking, carousing, or gambling. This is not to be a vulgar, swashbuckling, privateering revel, but--"
A slight disturbance at the door interrupted him. He frowned, and rapped on the table, for silence. The disturbance, however, continued. Someone was trying to enter there against Rrisa's protests.
"I did not bring you up, sir," the Arab was saying, in broken English. "You cannot come in! How did you get here?"
"I'm not in the habit of giving explanations to subordinates, or of bandying words with them," replied the man, in a clear, rather high-pitched but very determined voice. The company, gazing at him, saw a slight, well-knit figure of middle height or a little less, in aviator's togs. "I'm here to see your master, my good fellow, not you!"
The man at the head of the table raised a finger to his lips, in signal of silence from them all, and beckoned the Arab.
"Let him come in!" he ordered, in Rrisa's vernacular.
"A, M'almé" submitted the desert man, standing aside and bowing as the stranger entered. The Master added, in English:
"If he comes as a friend and helper, uninvited though he be, we welcome him. If as an enemy, traitor, or spy, we can deal justice to him in short order. Sir, advance!"
The stranger came to the foot of the table. Men made way for him. He stood there a moment in silence, dropped his gauntlets on the table and seemed peering at the Master. Then all at once he drew himself up, sharply, and saluted.
The Master returned the salute. A moment's silence followed. No man was looking elsewhere than at this interloper.
Not much could be seen of him, so swaddled was he in sheepskin jacket, aviator's helmet, and goggles. Leather trousers and leggings completed his costume. The collar of the jacket, turned up, met the helmet. Of his face, only the chin and lower part of the cheeks remained visible.
The silence tautened, stretched to the breaking-point. All at once the master of Niss'rosh demanded, incisively:
"Your name, sir?"
"Captain Alfred Alden, of the R.A.F."
"Royal Air Force man, eh? Are you prepared to prove that?"
"I am."
"If you're not, well--this won't be exactly a salubrious altitude for you."
"I have my papers, my licenses, my commission."
"With you here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well," answered the Master, "I will examine them in due time. English, American, or--?"
"I am a Canadian." answered the aviator. "I have seen nearly two years' active service. I rank as an ace. I bear three wounds and have been cited several times. I have the Distinguished Service Cross. What more need I tell you, sir?"
His voice was steady and rang true. The Master nodded approval, that seemed to echo round the room in a buzz of acceptance. But there were still other questions to be asked. The next one was:
"How did you come here? It's obvious my man didn't bring you up."
"I came in my