The selection business proceeded apace. Two men were "turned down" politely, for Harborough knew what he wanted and meant to get it. He was a shrewd judge of human nature. Another applicant "hedged", tried to be funny by asking irrelevant questions, and, remarking that he wasn't jolly well going to pay to work and chuck good quids away, put on his hat and departed.
The last to be interviewed was a short, small-featured youngster with a very mild voice and manner, who blushed hotly when spoken to and showed considerable hesitation in framing his words. He seemed keen, but Villiers, looking on, felt certain that the youth wouldn't come up to the standard.
"What's your Service experience, my lad?" asked Sir Hugh. "You've forgotten to mention that in your letter."
For answer the youth handed in a sheet of paper—his record of service. Amongst other items it was noted that he was a flying-officer, held the M.C. with bar, and had been twice mentioned in dispatches for brilliant reconnaissance work over the enemy lines and for engaging and destroying three hostile machines. His "Protection Certificate" left no doubt as to the identity of the modest aerial warrior.
"Still keen on flying, Mr. Trevear?"
"Rather," replied the ex-airman with a sudden and unexpected burst of enthusiasm. "I wanted to stay in the R.A.F., but it was no go. Then I applied for a post as pilot at a civilian flying-school, but up to now I've heard nothing."
"Do you know the 'Cormorant' sea-plane?"
"Heard of it, sir," was the reply. "My buses were mono-airplanes, but I think I'd cotton on to a seaplane with very little difficulty."
"Good enough," exclaimed Harborough. "A stout heart goes a long way. Willing to sign on, on the terms I mentioned?"
"Rather," replied the now eager youth.