odd emblem on the left sleeve--a young fellow who hailed
Thompson with a hearty grip and a friendly grin. He sat himself in a
chair vis-a-vis, laying his funny, wedge-shaped cap on the table.

"I've been wondering what had become of you, Jimmie," Thompson said. "I
see now. Where have you been keeping yourself?"

"East," the other returned tersely. "Training. Got my wings. Off to
England day after to-morrow. How's everything with you, these days?"

Thompson looked his man over thoroughly. Jimmie Wells was the youngest
of the four sons of a wealthy man. The other three were at the front,
one of them already taking his long rest under a white, wooden cross
somewhere in France. Jimmie looked brown and fit. A momentary pang of
regret stung Thompson. He wished he too were standing in uniform, ready
for overseas.

"I've just wound up my business," he said. "I'm going to the front
myself, Jimmie."

"Good," Wells approved. "What branch?"

"I don't know yet," Thompson replied. "I made up my mind in a hurry. I'm
just setting out to find where I'll fit in best."

"Why don't you try aviation?" Jimmie Wells suggested. "You ought to
make good in that. There are a lot of good fellows flying. If you want
action, the R.F.C. is the sportiest lot of all."

"I might. I didn't think of that," Thompson returned slowly. "Yes, I
believe I could fly."

"If you can fly like you drive, you'll be the goods," Jimmie asserted
cheerfully. "Tell you what, Thompson. Come on around to the Flying Corps
headquarters with me. I know a fellow there rather well, and I'll
introduce you. Not that that will get you anything, only Holmes will
give you a lot of unofficial information."

Thompson rose from the table.

"Lead me to it," said he. "I'm your man."

Getting accepted as a cadet in the Royal Flying Corps was not so simple
a matter as enlisting in the infantry. The requirements were infinitely
more rigid. The R.F.C. took only the cream of the country's manhood.
They told Thompson his age was against him--and he was only
twenty-eight. It was true. Ninety per cent. of the winged men were five
years younger. But he passed all their tests by grace of a magnificent
body that housed an active brain and steady nerves.

All this did not transpire overnight. It took days. He told no one of
his plans in the meantime, no one but Tommy Ashe, who was a trifle
disappointed when Thompson declined to handle Tommy's exceedingly
profitable motor business. Tom