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288 in the lost trunk that couldn’t be replaced, anything “valuable.”

“There’s one thing that’s positively invaluable; a Zeiss lens, in perfect condition. I’ve got several good photographic outfits from time to time, but the lenses are always cracked by heat,—the things usually come down on fire. This one I got out of a plane I brought down up at Bar-le-Duc, and there’s not a scratch on it; simply a miracle.”

“You get all the loot when you bring down a machine, do you?” Claude asked encouragingly.

“Of course. I’ve a good collection; alimeters and compasses and glasses. This lens I always carry with me, because I’m afraid to leave it anywhere.”

“I suppose it makes a fellow feel pretty fine to bring down one of those German planes.”

“Sometimes. I brought down one too many, though; it was very unpleasant.” Victor paused, frowning. But Claude’s open, credulous face was too much for his reserve. “I brought down a woman once. She was a plucky devil, flew a scouting machine and had bothered us a bit, going over our lines. Naturally, we didn’t know it was a woman until she came down. She was crushed underneath things. She lived a few hours and dictated a letter to her people. I went out and dropped it inside their lines. It was nasty business. I was quite knocked out. I got a fortnight’s leave in London, though. Wheeler,” he broke out suddenly, “I wish I knew we were going there now!”

“I’d like it well enough if we were.”

Victor shrugged. “I should hope so!” He turned his chin in Claude’s direction. “See here, if you like, I’ll show you London! It’s a promise. Americans never see it, you know. They sit in a Y hut and write to their Pollyannas, or they go