keen on cheap work and
large profits; of poor pilots who had funked it, and good pilots who had
expected too much of it. Thousands of pounds had been wasted on it,
many had gone bankrupt over it, and others it had provided with safe fat
jobs.

Somehow, and despite every conceivable obstacle, it had managed to
muddle through, and now it was ready for its work. It was not perfect,
for there were fifty different ways in which it might be improved, some
of them shamefully obvious. But it was fairly sound mechanically, had a
little inherent stability, was easily controlled, could climb a thousand
feet a minute, and its speed was a hundred miles an hour. In short,
quite a creditable machine, though of course the right man had not got
the credit.

It is rough, unsettled weather with a thirty mile an hour wind on the
ground, and that means fifty more or less aloft. Lots of clouds at
different altitudes to bother the Pilot, and the air none to clear for
the observation of landmarks.

As the Pilot and Observer approach the Aeroplane the former is clearly
not in the best of tempers. "It's rotten luck," he is saying, "a blank
shame that I should have to take this blessed 'bus and join X Reserve
Squadron, stationed a hundred and fifty miles from anywhere; and just
as I have licked my Flight into shape. Now some slack blighter will, I
suppose, command it and get the credit of all my work!"

"Shut up, you grouser," said the Observer. "Do you think you're the only
one with troubles? Haven't I been through it too? Oh! I know all about
it! You're from the Special Reserve and your C.O. doesn't like your
style of beauty, and you won't lick his boots, and you were a bit of a
technical knut in civil life, but now you've jolly well got to know less
than those senior to you. Well! It's a jolly good experience for most of
us. Perhaps conceit won't be at quite such a premium after this war. And
what's the use of grousing? That never helped anyone. So buck up, old
chap. Your day will come yet. Here's our machine, and I must say it
looks a beauty!"

And, as the Pilot approaches the Aeroplane, his face brightens and he
soon forgets his troubles as he critically inspects the craft which is
to transport him and the Observer over the hills and far away. Turning
to the Flight-Sergeant he inquires, "Tank full of petrol and oil?"

"Yes, sir," he replies, "and everything else all correct. Propeller,
engine, and body covers on board, sir; tool kit c