McGee and Larkin had hurried through breakfast and were on
their way out to the hangars where the mechanics, following Larkin's
orders, would have the two Camels waiting on the line. As the car rolled
along the smooth highway leading to the flying field, McGee sank back in
the none too comfortable cushions and drank deep of the tonic of early
morning.

"Some day!" he said. Larkin merely nodded--the only reply needed when
Spring is in the air.

"It would be more fun to drive up to Paris," McGee offered.

Larkin looked at him in surprise. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"Well, nearly all of my impressions of France are from the air. It
stands for so many squares of green fields, of little rivers gleaming
like silver ribbons interlaced through squares of green and brown plush,
of torn up battlefronts where there is no life, no color--nothing but
desolation. But this seems like another world. Here are spring flowers,
the orchards are in bloom, and children are playing in the narrow
streets of the towns. Flying over it, you look down on all that. You see
it--and you don't see it. But in driving we would feel that we were a
part of it. There's a difference. It gives you a feeling that you are
better acquainted with the people, and you get a chance to smell
something besides the beastly old Clerget motors in those Camels. I'm
getting so I feel sick every time I smell burning oil. Let's drive up,
Buzz."

Larkin, being in a different frame of mind, shook his head.

"No, you're too blasted poetic about it already. Besides, we have
permission to fly up, not to drive. I suppose we could get the pass
changed, but why fool with your luck? And the quicker we get there the
more we see."

"All right, but on a day like this I could get more pleasure out of just
wandering through the countryside than in seeing all the cities of the
world rolled into one. Look!" he pointed to the flying field as the car
turned from the highway. "There are the Camels, warming up, and filling
this good, clean air with their sickening fumes. Bah! I hate it!"

"Say, have you got the pip? You talk like a farmer. Snap out of it!
We're headed for Gay Paree!"

The car had rolled to a stop at the edge of the field. McGee climbed out
slowly. "All right, big boy. You lead the way. And no contour chasing
to-day. I'm too liable to get absent-minded and try to reach out and
pick some daisies. Besides, this motor of mine has been trickier than
usual in the last