"Don't get so sore," said Bill. "I told you back home that I was going to treat him decently, and I am."
He turned on his pillow and was silent, and both boys were asleep in about a minute. They were very tired.
Early in the morning Jardin introduced the Toronto boy, and they found him a very quiet, pleasant chap who made no pretensions of any sort. Together they walked down to the hangars.
"How do you learn to fly in the civilian schools?" asked Bill of the Toronto boy, whose name was Ernest Breeze.
"It is about the same as the government schools," said the boy. "You know something about flying, don't you?"
"A little," replied Bill modestly. "I can control the machine on the field, but I have never been up. There are reasons that keep me from flying but I hope to some day."
"Well, we learned on an old style Bright," said Ernest. "With a dual control, you know. You take the same seat you will always occupy, you follow every movement of the instructor beside you, and you sort of feel that you are managing the levers all alone, until you sense the tricks of the machine and learn a few things like rising from the field, manœuvering and landing. It is a good deal easier than it is to drive an automobile."
"That's the way you start at the aviation schools in the Army," said Frank. "But there you don't have to pay any of this dollar-a-minute business."
"No," said Ernest, "but in exchange for your tuition you have to join the Aviation Corps. And now that the war is over, I would rather do postal work, or ferry or excursion lines instead of hanging around an Army aviation camp. My aim is to be as perfect a flier as I possibly can, and then if there is ever any need of another Army Aviation Corps, why, I will enlist right off. You see your final test qualifies you for government service if you make good."
"What do you think is the quality a birdman should have most of?" asked Bill.