ch front to act as instructors to newly
arriving American squadrons? Wasn't it luck that they were still
billeted together in the lovely old chateau at the edge of town, and
could look forward to many, many more days together?

These latter thoughts were running through McGee's mind as his car swung
under the trees lining the drive that led up to the chateau. Why, but
for luck both of them might now be pushing up the daisies instead of
being happily, and comparatively safely ensconced in such comfortable
quarters. No more dawn patrols--for a while at least; no more soggy
breakfasts--with comrades missing who banteringly breakfasted with you
twenty-four short hours ago.

McGee's thoughts took unconscious vocal form as he stepped from the car.
"Lucky? I'll say we are!"

"What did you say, sir?" asked the driver.

The question snapped McGee back to earth.

"I was complimenting myself upon some very narrow escapes, Martins, but
I'll repeat--for your benefit. You are a very lucky boy."

Martins blinked. He held opposite views. "You think so, sir? I've gotta
different idea. I wanted to be a pilot, like you, sir, and here I am
toolin' this old bus around France with never a chance to get off the
ground unless I run off an embankment. And this old wreck is no bird."

"So you really wanted to be a pilot, Martins?"

"I sure did, sir."

"Um-m. That's why I said you were a very lucky young man. I know the
names of a lot of young fellows who wanted to become pilots--and did.
But they've gone West now and their names are on wooden crosses. Hoe
your own row, Martins, and thank the Lord for small favors."

"Yes, sir," aloud, and under his breath, "It's easy enough for them that
has wings."

"How's that, Martins?" McGee asked, rather enjoying himself.

Martins fidgeted with the gear shift. "I said I had always wanted a pair
of wings, sir."

"Well, be a good boy and maybe you'll get them--in the next world. Good
night, Martins."

"'Night--sir." Gurrr! went the clashing gears as the car got under way
with a lurch that spoke volumes for the driver. It was tough to be held
to the ground by a wingless motor.

McGee caught a gleam of light through the shutters of the upstairs
windows. So Larkin was back already? He took the front steps in a jump
and raced up the stairs in a manner most unbecoming to a First
Lieutenant with a score of victories to his credit.

"What kind of an outfit did you draw, Buzz?" he demanded as he b