shaw," said the pilot, turning to the instructor.

"Not me," was the reply. "I have a swat of work. There is ballast
for you, though, over there by the shed." Bob Haines was the ballast
indicated. He was putting the final touches on an aeroplane propellor
to which he had administered a coat of varnish.

"What lot?" queried the pilot.

"Bunch of young fellows from about here. Sort of volunteers. Idea
of the colonel's, I think. Nice lot of boys. Young, but getting on
fast. I have seen one of them, a French boy, quite a bit lately, and
if they are all as good at locating engine trouble as he is they will
go far in this game before they are old men. Ask the tall youngster.
He will be tickled to death. I don't suppose he has been up before,
but he will be a good passenger. Be careful and don't scare him.
Don't try any stunts. Shall I sing out to him?"

"I guess so. I don't much care who it is so long as he weighs up to
average, and that fellow looks pretty husky."

"Here, young fellow! You are needed here for a minute," called out
Fanshaw.

Bob trotted over to the plane at once.

"What were you at?" asked the instructor.

"Varnishing," replied Bob. "Just finished."

"This is Lieutenant Fauver. He is trying this new chaser. She is
the finest thing we have seen here, and he wants to give her a spin
with a passenger up. Hop in if you like."

The pilot smiled and shook Bob's hand, then added another invitation.
It was hardly necessary. Bob was overjoyed. Often the boys had
discussed going up, but a fair frequency of minor accidents made the
officers at the camp chary about any unnecessary risks. Consequently,
the Brighton boys had decided that their best plan was to say nothing
about flying as passengers until someone suggested it to them. That
one of them might be of any possible use as a passenger had never
entered their heads.

A few moments after, the new chaser was soaring upward with a roar
of engine exhaust that told of pride of power. Bob was in the snug
front seat undergoing an experience whose like he had never dreamed
of. His youthful imagination had often tried to picture what it
would be like to be up in a swift flying-machine, but the sense
of power and the exhilaration of swinging triumphantly through space
gave him a new sensation.

"This," he thought, "is the greatest game of all. This is what one
day I will be doing to some purpose."

His mind went out to that day when