“Excuse me the night the scrap comes off,” chirped Don. “A little of that sort of thing is much too much.”
“Like our smash-up to-day!” chuckled Dublin Dan.
All the boys were pretty tired when they reached the barracks; for training in the flying school often produces a strain on the nerves more fatiguing than hard work. No time, therefore, was lost in turning in.
But Don Hale passed a most uncomfortable and restless night. The pains and aches, partially forgotten while in the midst of lively scenes, now became violent enough to prevent the boy from falling into the slumber which nature craved—in fact he had not slept at all when, after what seemed to be an interminable length of time, the clear, musical notes of the bugle, sounding the reveille, broke in upon his ears.
It was a relief. But, at the same time, Don, blinking-eyed and yawning, scarcely felt in the mood to enjoy the work as he had done on the day before. Out in the open air, however, he soon felt more like himself, and his natural enthusiasm soon overcame all bodily fatigue.
The new élève imagined that he had conquered the “penguin,” but the result of the day’s performance, to his great surprise, and equally great disgust, showed him that this was merely an illusion. Both he and Dublin Dan figured in several mishaps, the most serious of which caused Dan’s “penguin” to be towed to the repair shop. Both boys, too, received a varied assortment of bruises. And at night, when summing up the result of the work, Don grimly declared that it certainly was the end of an imperfect day.
A week passed, and then another, with Don and Dan still struggling to obtain a complete mastery over the unruly “birds.” There were several interruptions in the work due to thunder-storms. And after the artillery of the clouds had ceased the rain continued for hours. On such occasions the students amused themselves by getting up impromptu concerts; and sometimes, while the wind and rain beat relentlessly against the Hotel d’Amerique, the notes of such pleasing compositions as Schumann’s “Traumerei,” Schubert’s “Am Meer” and Mendelssohn’s “Spring Song,” played on the piano by a former motion picture artist, mingled with the ominous blasts outside.
On certain days lectures were given; the students were taught the theories of aeronautics and the design and construction of various types of flying machines. They were obliged, too, to take motors apart and put them together again. Then, there were courses in map reading—a very important subject indeed for the aviators must learn to keep track of their aerial travels by such means.
About the middle of the third week Don and Dan were delighted to be informed by the instructor that their progress had been sufficient to entitle them to enter the second class. This did not mean that they were to be allowed to fly. It did mean, however, that they became pilots of real airplanes, though it was not possible to turn on sufficient power for the motors to take the machine off the ground.
The boys found the sensation very different from that experienced while trying to tame the “penguins.” There was a delightful lightness and buoyancy about these monoplanes, as they skimmed over the ground, exhilarating in the highest degree. They continually seemed about to defy the limitations set upon them and leave the terrestrial globe for the firmament above.