"Never fear," remarks a Flight-Commander. "I know the Pilot well and he's a good 'un; far too good to carry on into a fog."
"They say the machine is really something out of the ordinary," says another, "and that, for once, the Designer has been allowed full play; that he hasn't been forced to unduly standardize ribs, spars, struts, etc., and has more or less had his own way. I wonder who he is. It seems strange we hear so little of him."
"Ah! my boy. You do a bit more flying and you'll discover that things are not always as they appear from a distance!"
"There she is, sir!" cries the Flight-Sergeant. "Just a speck over the silvery corner of that cloud."
A tiny speck it looks, some six miles distant and three thousand feet high; but, racing along, it rapidly appears larger and soon its outlines can be traced and the sunlight be seen playing upon the whirling propeller.
Now the distant drone of the engine can be heard, but not for long, for suddenly it ceases and, the nose of the Aeroplane sinking, the craft commences gliding downwards.
"Surely too far away," says a subaltern. "It will be a wonderful machine if, from that distance and height, it can glide into the Aerodrome." And more than one express the opinion that it cannot be done; but the Designer smiles to himself, yet with a little anxiety, for his reputation is at stake, and Efficiency, the main reward he desires, is perhaps, or perhaps not, at last within his grasp!
Swiftly the machine glides downwards towards them, and it can now be seen how surprisingly little it is affected by the rough weather and gusts; so much so that a little chorus of approval is heard.
"Jolly good gliding angle," says someone; and another, "Beautifully quick controls, what?" and from yet another, "By Jove! The Pilot must be sure of the machine. Look, he's stopped the engine entirely."
Then the Aeroplane with noiseless engine glides over the boundary of the Aerodrome, and, with just a soft soughing sound from the air it cleaves, lands gently not fifty yards from the onlookers.