"
"Right you are, Stan! Why didn't I think of that before? I hope the
fall didn't smash their tank."
It so happened the tank was nearly all right, only a little of the oil
having leaked out through a twisted nut. Blaine got busy and in ten
minutes he had transferred the German petrol to his own tank, and
thereupon felt, as be phrased it, quite "like a new man."
Meantime stray shells were falling here and there, but none within a
dangerous margin. Still, it would be better to get somewhere else.
"Come on, Stan," said Blaine. "I don't like these stray duds and
coal-boxes. One of them might drop too near. Let me put you back in
your manhole."
Before this could be accomplished, Blaine heard another nearing noise,
at first high up in the air. Looking up he saw a tiny burst of flame
from a dark, swirling object that was plainly descending fast, then
faster still.
"Why, that must be a falling plane!" he exclaimed. "It's coming down
mighty close, too. What'd I better do?"
Apparently there was not much to do for half a minute but to watch.
And watch both he and Stanley did, wondering if it was enemy or friend,
for the burning plane was careening, fluttering -- not unlike a
broken-winged bird. In the gray dawn they could see the pilot, still
seated, dexterously manipulating every agency that might enable him to
keep his balance without falling out.
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