“What other friends?” she inquired innocently. “Me,” said David, ungrammatically but concisely. Dulcie blushed; then she chuckled, and pinched David’s finger. “Well, Funnyface, you were here too, weren’t you?” “That’s more like it,” said David, and they both laughed. But somehow a new and closer friendship commenced then. Mr. Hammond, appearing in the doorway, assumed a scowl. “Go away, Dulcie,” he said, “and let the captain sail the ship. I’d put you in chains where stowaways belong, if only I could find any.” They had passed France; they were over Germany. Radiograms were flying between the ship and Friedrichshafen. All was in readiness there for the welcome of the Moonbeam, and at eleven thirty-five that morning Friedrichshafen lay below them. Slowly the ship settled over the field. The ground crew of five hundred men seized the ropes and, spreading fanwise, brought the ship down. Mr. Hammond had expected to be moored to the mast, but he saw that preparations had been made to house the ship in the hangar. As the ground crew, resplendent in their natty blues, drew the Moonbeam down to earth, the watchers saw a large group of magnificently uniformed officers waiting to receive them. Great crowds, held back in orderly masses by soldiers, roared the deep German salute, “_Hoch, Hoch_,” and mingling with it they could hear a goodly volume of American hurrahs, while all over the vast field waved a scattering of small American flags. Mr. Hammond was enthusiastically received by the burgomaster and a group of the city fathers, as well as by representative officers from the German army and navy, air service, and government. He found himself shaking hands with his old friend, the American ambassador to Germany. Smiles wreathed every face. The joyous uproar continued as all the passengers came down the steps from the gondola, but later a sympathetic silence fell as the waiting ambulance backed up and its white-clad attendants disappeared into the ship. Expert hands bore out two stretchers with their swathed forms. Florsheim, sensing the sympathy, got his arm from under the blanket and waved it with a pale grin, while a cheer burst out again, this time not for the ship but for the two injured men being given over to the care of the skilful surgeons for whom Germany is justly noted. When the ambulance had gone, the crowd surged toward the ship. The best of German mechanics waited to assist the crew of the Moonbeam in grooming her. David, standing at Mr. Hammond’s side, felt the good fellowship and sportsmanship which permeated the welcome. The Moonbeam was trying to surpass the record of their own Graf Zeppelin, but there was no resentment. One ferocious-looking and red-faced general in the Air Corps stared hard at David as he walked away, then exploded, “And where iss your captain?” “There is our captain and pilot, general,” said Mr. Hammond, bowing.