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"I' the ruthless pairsuit of his duty, Tam was patrollin' at a height o' twelve thoosand feet, his mind filled wi' beautifu' thochts aboot pay-day, when a cauld shiver passes doon the dauntless spine o' the wee hero. 'Tis a preemonition or warnin' o' peeril. He speers oop an' doon absint-mindedly fingerin' the mechanism of his seelver-plated Lewis gun.
"Those are the beggars we lie awake for, patrollin' the high seas. There ain't a port in China where we wouldn't be better treated. Yes, a Boxer 'ud be ashamed of it," said Pyecroft. A cloud of fine dust boomed down the road. "Some happy craft with a well-found engine-room! How different!" panted Hinchcliffe, bent over the starboard mudguard.
The enemy's heavy shell struck the ground midway between him and his machine and threw up a great column of mud. "Mon!" said Tam in alarm. "A' thocht it were goin' straicht for ma wee machine." "What happened to you, Tam?" asked the wing commander. Tam cleared his throat. "Patrollin' by order the morn," he said, "ma suspeecions were aroused by the erratic movements of a graund clood.
"I told him that I hadn't seen any sign of trouble not that that means anything," he added, "but if you wait a minute the other man will be up this way; he's patrollin' the streets and you can go along with him." "How many of you are there here?" asked the boy. "Generally half a dozen in these two or three streets," the policeman answered, "but I guess right now there's twice that number."
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