orking knowledge of flying learned at the greatest of
schools, was able to talk in a most convincing manner. Horace, sunk in a
sullen silence, listened closely.

CHAPTER X

The first week of school, full of adjustments and experiments, passed
with the greatest swiftness. The boys were soon accustomed to their
surroundings and threw themselves with enthusiasm into their studies and
drill. Every possible moment was spent on the aviation field. Bill was
learning every quirk and crank of such work as he could do in Ernest's
plane without leaving the ground.

The mechanicians still worked on Horace Jardin's plane, but seemed to
make no headway. Horace threatened one thing and then another, ready to
take the advice of whoever stood nearest. Frank made it a point to be
that person as often as possible. He fretted no longer about money, a
fact that pleased Bill.

Then Saturday came, and things commenced to happen.

First was the usual rush for the morning mail at eight o'clock. There
was a letter from Mrs. Sherman, which Bill carried into the deserted
library to read. He always wanted to be alone when he read his mother's
letters. They were so dear and so precious, and seemed so nearly as
though she herself was speaking to him, that he hated to be in a crowd
of careless, chaffing boys.

When he had read half the long, closely written pages, however, he gave
a shout and hustling down the corridor to the chemistry room, burst in
upon Ernest who was doing some extra work there.

"Hey, Ern!" cried Bill, waving the letter. "Hear this! My mother is a
peach if there ever _was_ one!"

The elder boy laughed. "I bet she says you can fly," he guessed.

"Just that. Listen!"

Bill hastily hunted for the right place.

"'You know, darling' ... no, that's not it," he hastily corrected
himself. "Here it is. 'Perhaps I have been selfish in asking you not to
try your wings until you are older. Your dad assures me that you are an
expert with your automobile and says that there are no age limit flyers.
You see, the trouble is, sonny, that it is hard for your mother to
realize that you are going to grow up soon. You notice that I say you
are _going_ to, not you _are_ growing up. This is a gentle way of
leading up to what I want to say about flying.

"'Dear boy of mine, please, _please_ let your promise stand, with this
much of a release. If ever, _ever_ there comes an occasion of the
_greatest importance_, an occasion where yo