The Sky Pilot in No Mans Land | Page 3

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 one is the poverty of the other."
"Where is he going?" enquired the boy.
"Out by way of Edmonton, Calgary, Moose Jaw, Minneapolis, so on to
Pittsburgh. Partner with him, young lawyer, expert in mines, unmarried.
He is coming back in a couple of months or so for a big hunt. Wants us
to join him. Really extraordinary, when you come to think of it, how
much information he was able to convey in such a short space of time.
Marvellous gift of expression!"
"What did you say, dad?"

"Say? Oh, as to his invitation! Why, I believe I accepted, my boy. It
seemed as if I could do nothing else. It's a way he has."
"Is--is the daughter to be along?"
"Let me see. What did he say? Really, I don't know. But I should judge
that it would be entirely as she wished. She is--"
"Boss of the show, eh?"
"Exactly. Most vivid phrase, eh?"
"Very. And no doubt aptly descriptive of the fact."
In half an hour the breakfast was finished, and the elder man got his
pipe a-going.
"Now, dad, you had better go along and make your call, while I get
things together here."
"What! You not going! No, no, that won't do, my boy. It was about you
they were concerned. You were the occasion of the acquaintanceship.
Besides, meeting in the wilderness this way we can't do that sort of
thing, you know."
"Well, dad, frankly, I am quite terrified of the young lady. Suppose she
should start bossing us. We should both be quite helpless."
"Oh, nonsense, boy! Come along. Get your hat."
"All right, I'll come. On your head be the consequences, dad. No. I
don't need a hat. Fortunately I put on a clean shirt. Will I do, dad? You
know I'm 'scairt stiff,' as Harry Hobbs would say."
His father looked him over, but there was nothing critical in his glance.
Pride and love filled his eyes as they ran over his son's face and figure.
And small wonder! The youth was good to look upon. A shade under
six feet he stood, straight and slim, strength and supple grace in every
move of his body. His face was beautiful with the beauty of features,

clean cut and strong, but more with the beauty of a clear, candid soul.
He seemed to radiate an atmosphere of cheery good nature and
unspoiled simplicity. He was two years past his majority, yet he carried
the air of a youth of eighteen, in which shyness and fearlessness looked
out from his deep blue eyes. It was well that he wore no hat to hide the
mass of rich brown hair that waved back from his forehead.
"You'll do, boy," said his father, in a voice whose rigid evenness of
tone revealed the emotion it sought to conceal. "You'll take all the shine
from me, you young beggar," he added in a tone of gruff banter, "but
there was a time--"
"WAS a time, dad? IS, and don't tell me you don't know it. I always
feel like a school kid in any company when you're about.
'When the sun comes out All the little stars run in,'"
he sang from a late music hall effusion. "Why, just come here and look
at yourself," and the boy's eyes dwelt with affectionate pride upon his
father.
It was easy to see where the boy got his perfect form. Not so tall as his
son, he was more firmly knit, and with a kind of dainty neatness in his
appearance which suggested the beau in earlier days. But there was
nothing of weakness about the erect, trim figure. A second glance
discovered a depth of chest, a thickness of shoulder and of thigh, and a
general development of muscle such as a ring champion might show;
and, indeed, it was his achievements in the ring rather than in the class
lists that won for Dick Dunbar in his college days his highest fame.
And though his fifty years had slowed somewhat the speed of foot and
hand, the eye was as sure as ever, and but little of the natural force was
abated which once had made him the