Flight-Lieutenant C. appeared, rather younger than his Captain, a long, slender youth, with serious brow and thoughtful eyes, whom I forthwith questioned as diplomatically as might be.
“Oh, yes!” he answered, in response to my various queries, “it was exciting for a minute or so, but I expect the Captain has been pulling your leg no end. Yes, they smashed my gun. Yes, they hit pretty well everything except me and my mascot—they didn’t get that, by good luck. No, I don’t think a fellow would mind ‘getting it’ in the ordinary way—a bullet, say. But it’s the damned petrol catching alight and burning one’s legs.” Here the speaker bent to survey his long legs with serious eyes. “Burning isn’t a very nice finish somehow. They generally manage to chuck themselves out—when they can. Hello—here comes one of our new machines—engine sounds nice and smooth!” said he, cocking an ear. Sure enough, came a faint purr that grew to a hum, to an ever-loudening drone, and out from the clouds an aeroplane appeared, which, wheeling in graceful spirals, sank lower and lower, touched earth, rose, touched again, and so, engine roaring, slid smoothly toward us over the grass. Then appeared men in blue overalls, who seized the gleaming monster in unawed, accustomed hands, steadied it, swung it round, and halted it within speaking distance.
Hereupon its leather-clad pilot climbed stiffly out, vituperated the weather and lit a cigarette.
“How is she?” enquired the Captain.
“A lamb! A witch! Absolutely tophole when you get used to her.” The tophole lamb and witch was a smallish biplane with no great wing spread, but powerfully engined, whose points N. explained to me as—her speed, her climbing angle, her wonderful stability, etc., while the Captain and Lieutenant hastened off to find the Major, who, appearing in due course, proved to be slender, merry-eyed and more youthful-looking than the Lieutenant. Indeed, so young seeming was he that upon better acquaintance I ventured to enquire his age, and he somewhat unwillingly owned to twenty-three.
“But,” said he, “I’m afraid we can’t show you very much, the weather’s so perfectly rotten for flying.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the Captain, glancing towards the witch-lamb, “I rather thought I’d like to try this new machine—if you don’t mind, sir.”
“Same here,” murmured the Lieutenant.
“But you’ve never flown a Nieuport before, have you, eh?” enquired the Major.
“No, sir, but—”