The Sky Pilot in No Mans Land | Page 2

you he has swum round the bend. Just go over the rock and see."
"God grant it!" said her father.
He dropped his paddle, ran up over the rock and down into the little dell on the other side that ran down to the water's edge. There he saw a tent, with all the accompaniments of a well ordered camp, and a man cooking breakfast on a small fire.
"Well, I'll be combusticated!" he said to himself, weakly holding to a little poplar tree.
"I say!" he cried, "where is he? Has he come in? Is he all right?"
"Who?" said the man at the fire.
"The boy on the rock."
The man gazed at him astonished, then as if suddenly grasping his meaning, replied,
"Yes, he came in. He's dressing in the tent."
"Well, I'll be condumbusticated!" said the man. "Say! what the devil does he mean by scaring people out of their senses in that way!"
The man at the fire stood gazing at him in an utterly bewildered way.
"If you will tell me exactly what you are after, I may be able to help you."
The other drew slowly near the fire. He was still pale, and breathing quickly.
"Hello, dad, is breakfast ready?" came a cheery voice from the tent.
"Thank God, he is alive apparently," said the man, sinking down on a log beside the fire. "You must pardon me, sir," he said. "You see, I saw him take a header into the pool from that high rock over yonder, and he never came up again. I thought he was drowned."
The man at the fire smiled.
"The young villain gave you a fright, did he? One of his usual tricks. Well, as his father, and more or less responsible for him, I offer the most humble apology. Have you had breakfast?"
"Yes. But why did he do such a thing?"
"Ask him. Here he comes."
Out from the tent came the youth in shorts, the warm glow of his body showing through the filmy material.
"Hello!" he cried, backing toward the tent door. "You are the man with the paddle. Is there by any chance a lady with you, or did I hear a lady's voice over there? I assure you I got a deuce of a fright."
"You gave me the supreme fright of my life, young man, I can tell you that."
"But I surely heard a lady's voice," said the youth.
"You did. It was my daughter's voice, and it was she who suggested that you had swum around the bend. And she sent me over here to investigate."
"Oh, your daughter. Excuse me," said the youth. "I shall be out in a few minutes." He slid into the tent, and did not reappear.
The man remained chatting with the youth's father for a few minutes, then rising said,
"Well, I feel better. I confess this thing gave me something of a shock. But come round and see us before we go. We shall be leaving in an hour."
The man at the fire promised to make the visit, and the other took his departure.
A few minutes later the youth reappeared.
"Is breakfast ready?" he cried. "My, but I'm hungry! But who is he, dad?"
"Sit down," said his father, "and get your breakfast while it is hot."
"But who is he, dad?" persisted the youth.
"Who is he?" said his father, dishing up the bacon. "An oil explorer, an artist, a capitalist, an American from Pittsburgh, the father of one child, a girl. Her mother is dead. Nineteen years old, athletic, modern type, college bred, 'boss of the show' (quotation). These are a few of the facts volunteered within the limited space of his visit."
"What's he like, dad?"
"Like? Like an American."
"Now, dad, don't allow your old British prejudices to run away with your judgment."
"On the contrary, I am perfectly charmed. He is one of those Americans who capture you at once, educated, frank, open, with that peculiar charm that Britishers will not be able to develop for many generations. An American, but not of the unspeakable type. Not at all. You will like him."
"I am sure I shall," replied the youth. "I liked his voice and his face. I like the Americans. I met such nice chaps at college. So clever, and with such a vocabulary."
"Vocabulary? Well, I'm not too sure as to the vocabulary part of it."
"Yes, such bright, pat, expressive slang, so fresh and in such variety. So different from your heavy British slang, in which everything approaching the superlative must be one of three things, 'ripping,' with very distinct articulation on the double p, or 'top hole,' or 'awfully jolly.' More recently, I believe, a fourth variation is allowed in 'priceless.'
"Ah, my boy, you have unconsciously uttered a most searching criticism on your American friends. Don't you know that a vocabulary rich in slang is poverty stricken in forceful and well chosen English? The wealth of the