“Archie,” I said, when we met, “I want to ask a great favour from you. Are you doing anything special in the next fortnight?”
He admitted that he had thought of getting back to Scotland to watch a pair of nesting greenshanks.
“Let the greenshanks alone, like a good fellow. I’ve probably got to go to Norway on the 21st, and I shall want to get home in the deuce of a hurry. The steamer’s far too slow.”
“Destroyer,” he suggested.
“Hang it, this is not the War. Talk sense. I want an aeroplane, and I want you to fetch me.”
Archie whistled long and loud.
“You’re a surprisin’ old bird, d**k. It’s no joke bein’ a pal of yours. . . . I dare say I could raise a bus all right. But you’ve got to chance the weather. And my recollection of Norway is that it’s not very well provided with landin’ pl
