It was a long time thereafter, however, until the band was reunited, for the submarine boy went north in a torpedo boat destroyer, and our Aviator Boys went—but that’s another story.
For several weeks the boys—only two of them now—listened to daily lectures from the captain and Freeman on the fine points of sea-planing.
“You must remember that you are going to be demonstrators and instructors—you’re not just plain aviators any more,” jollied the captain.
“When you go out alone in the cold world—aloft I mean—it is just as well to know just what to do in any weather. You may never have a chance to correct an error if it occurs five thousand feet from nowhere.”
The boys evidently never forgot the captain’s advice, for they lived to report all the mistakes they made.
Day after day the young airmen drilled as pilot and engineer, one time in one position, and one time in another, change about. Billy was regular as pilot, but the captain insisted that each could take the place of the other if emergency demanded.
“You are both qualified for aëroplane work, fore and aft, but you must remember that a sea-plane is a bigger proposition, and I want you to be top-notchers. You get me?”
“We ought to be able to get you, captain, for this is the eighty-eighth time this week that you have said the same thing.”
“All right, Billy, I’m stopping on the eighty-eighth. I think you’ll both do.”
The next day the boys were ordered to speed a sea-plane to London.