y
would stay on at the aerodrome.

Nor did they lack excitement. The place where they were stationed was a
busy one. For every twenty pilots and observers there are detailed about
one hundred men as helpers. There are cooks, photographers, mechanics of
various sorts, telephone, telegraph and wireless operators, orderlies
and servants.

Of these Tom and Jack had their share, for it is the business of an
airman to fly and fight, and he does nothing except in that line. He is
catered to and helped in every possible way when not in the air. He has
some one to wait on him, to look after his machine, and to attend to his
hurts, if he is unlucky enough to get any. Of course each flier goes
over, personally, his own craft, but he has oilers and mechanics to do
all the detail work.

"Well, there they go!" exclaimed Tom to Jack one morning, the second of
their "vacation," as they observed a number of "aces" about to go up
and search above the clouds for some Hun to attack.

"Yes, and I wish I was with them!" said Jack.

"Waiting isn't much fun," agreed his chum. "I'm sure I can't understand
why dad doesn't send some word. If this keeps up much longer--Say, Jack,
look at Parla!" he suddenly cried. "What's the matter with him?"

Jack looked. The men, in their machines, had started off to get momentum
for a rise into the air. But there had been a rain and the ground was
soft, which kept down the speed. All the pilots seemed to get off in
fairly good shape except one, Parla by name, who had only recently
secured the coveted designation of "ace."

And then occurred one of those tragedies of flying. Whether he was
nervous at taking a flight in such distinguished company, or whether
something went wrong with Parla's machine never would be known.

He was the last in the line, and as it was rather misty he might have
been anxious not to lose sight of his companions. He did not take a long
enough run, and when he reached the end of the field he was not high
enough to clear the line of hangars that were in front of him.

Some one shouted at him, not stopping to realize that the noise of the
motor drowned everything else in the ears of the pilot.

The luckless man tried to make a sharp turn, to get out of danger. One
of his wing tips caught on the canvas tent, or hangar, and in another
instant there was a crash and a mass of wreckage. From this, a little
later, poor Parla was carried.

But the others did not stay, for though the