"Well," began Derek, addressing the airman, "there seems to be some slight doubt concerning the place in which you were born. What is it?"
A suspicion of a smile flitted across the man's face.
"Itchen Abbass, sir; a village near Winchester," he replied. "I tried to explain to the Sergeant, but he would have his own way."
For the next month or so Sableridge Training Depot was passing through a dark period of its history. Like other army and air establishments it was suffering from the blight of demobilization. Those officers and men who knew that they might be returned to civil life any day didn't trouble in the slightest about duty. Their one idea was to pack up and clear out as quickly as possible. Discipline was lax; vague rumours of the closing down of the station were in the air. On parade the numbers steadily, nay, rapidly, dwindled, until the four "flights" were reduced to a tenth of their former strength. In the harbour expensive motor-boats were rotting and rusting at their moorings for want of hands to man them and keep them in a state of efficiency.
All this was a disconcerting outlook for men of Derek's type. The departing units exercised an undesirable influence on those who were staying on, while, what was worse, they gave a cue to the new recruits.
"We're sending you to the doctor this morning, old son," announced the Adjutant to Derek. "All officers applying for permanent commissions are to be medically examined before noon."
Derek heard the tidings without emotion. He remembered his first medical examination for the service; how it filled him with trepidation, as he feared that the doctor would discover some defect hitherto unknown to him. Since that time Daventry had become case-hardened. The examination, which might prove an ordeal to many, hardly troubled him in the least.
The R.A.M.C. Captain, an elderly man, whose rugged features and bull voice were merely foils to a kindly and sympathetic nature, wasted no time.
"You're O.K., Daventry," he declared, "fit as a fiddle. I'll put you in A category. That means you're all right for aerial work. Why, what's the matter? You don't look pleased."
There was an expression of perplexity in Derek's face. A few months previously he would have hailed with delight the prospect of being a knight of the air once more; now a different feeling had arisen. The innate seaman's instinct had developed. He loved the sea; the actual marine work at Sableridge fascinated him. The thought of having to sever his connection with the depot rather staggered him.