“Why, when once up there is not so much danger in the air as there is in walking along a London street,” she declared.
“So Ronnie always says, but I rather doubt the statement,” Iris replied. “Personally, I prefer terra firma.”
Breakfast ended, Beryl brushed her little black pom, one of her daily duties, and then, going to her room, changed her dress, putting on a warm jersey and a pair of workmanlike trousers, and over them a windproof flying suit with leather cap tied beneath her chin, a garb which gave her a very masculine appearance.
Very soon she arrived at “The Hornet Nest,” and, at her directions, Collins brought out the great biplane and began to run the engine, which Beryl watched with critical eye. Then, climbing into the pilot’s seat, she began to manipulate the levers to reassure herself that all the controls were in order.
“Beautiful morning for a flip, miss!” remarked the mechanic in brown overalls. “Are you going up alone?”
“Yes, Collins. I’m going to visit my youngest sister at Sleaford, in Lincolnshire.”
“Then I’ll take the bombs out,” he said, and at once removed the six powerful bombs from the rack, the projectiles intended for the destruction of Zeppelins. He also dismounted the quick-firing gun.
For some time Beryl did not appear entirely satisfied with the throb of the engines, but at last Collins adjusted them until they were running perfectly.
Within himself Collins was averse from allowing the girl to fly such a powerful machine, knowing how easily, with such a big engine-power, the biplane might get the upper hand of her. But as she had made ascents alone in it several times before, it was not for him to raise any objection.
Having consulted her map she arranged it inside its waterproof cover, looked around at the instruments set before her, and then strapped herself into the seat.