"Meaning what?" Freddy asked.
Dave pointed a finger toward the east.
"The way day becomes night," he said. "Up north you have a couple of hours of twilight. But down this way you have only a couple of minutes of it. The sun goes down and then, bang, it's dark in nothing flat. I never realized that before about this section of the world."
"Well, it's a good thing when a pack of Jerries are on your tail, I fancy," Freddy grunted. "You can dive and lose them in the dark. And speaking of the dark, watch your take-off just before dawn tomorrow. Wouldn't be nice to crack us up before we get started, you know."
Dave turned his head and stared in amazement.
"Me watch the take-off?" he ejaculated. "Where do you get that stuff? You drew the marked slip. That makes you the pilot of the plane. Me, I'm the back seat driver."
"Oh, no, you're not!" Freddy argued. "I'm a very bright lad, I'll have you know. I know a pukka pilot when I see one. And I'm looking at you, see? Besides, I guess I never told you, but I'm a regular camera fiend. And the passenger works the camera. No, Dave, you do the flying. I'll take the pictures and try to bother you with back seat talk as much as I can."
"You really mean that, Freddy?" Dave asked. "You want me to take the controls?"
"That's right," the English youth nodded. Then, with a quick frown, "But don't take it as a compliment, my lad. I'm simply the lazy type, that's all. I like to have other people work for me."
"Aw, nuts!" Dave breathed in mock disappointment. "Just when I thought the guy was admitting I was good."