Our Pilots in the Air | Page 2

what's
what, he'll let you and me take out that neat little Bleriot. We'll do our
share of bombing of course; but if the Boches come up after us, we can
do something else besides run for home -- eh?"
Erwin shook his head dubiously as he replied:
"I doubt if he gives us the Bleriot. It's French, you know. We're
practicing with the Tommies. He likes the way you handle things, but I
fear he don't build much on me."
Lafe, of course, disclaimed any superiority, but Orris felt that way.
Later, when mid-day chow was over, Lafe found his way to where the
squadron commander was checking off the different machines and
assigning to each the various occupants. All this on a pad, in one of the
hangars, with no one else near, as the Sergeant thought. In Hangar Four
were two Bleriots all in trim order. The Sergeant stared at one of them,
grumbling to himself.
"What will I do here?" he reflected, half aloud, though unconscious of
his words. "I forgot that Cheval's arm is giving him trouble. Confound
him! He's too risky. Won't do to leave one of these behind. Hm-m-m!
Who else --"
"Your pardon, Sergeant!" A tall, athletic young American was beside
him, standing respectfully attention. "Why not take me? Give me a
chance!"

So dominating, yet so deferential was Blaine's attitude and manner that
Sergeant Anson for the minute said nothing, but he stared at the lad.
"I was with Monsieur Cheval, Sir, the night he got hurt, and I brought
the machine home, under his direction of course. You ask him if I am
not competent to handle that Bleriot. I'd much rather be in it than in the
big biplane I used last time."
"But - but -- you're too young, too inexperienced, too - too --"
"Now, Sir, please ask Cheval! You know what his judgment is. If I am
to have an observer, let Cheval go. He can sit, and - and observe --"
"Dash your bally impertinence!" Anson was putting up a tremendous
bluff. He knew it, and he knew that Blaine probably knew it, but "What
do you know about Bleriots, anyway?" he asked.
In five minutes by enticing talk and really export fingering of the
various parts of the admirable mechanism, Blaine half convinced his
superior. More, for by adroit manipulation of a certain lock, with
wrench and a pair of tweezers, he readjusted a certain valve hinge in
the petrol tank which he had heard Monsieur Cheval grumbling about
before. This he did with such dexterous rapidity and ease that Anson
expressed approval, adding:
"Where did you pick up so much mechanical knowledge, Blaine?"
"At Mineola, in the States. They kept every applicant in the shops --
some of them for weeks, others permanently."
"How happened it they didn't keep you there?" Anson was grinning
now.
"Well, Sir, I wanted to learn to fly -- high. That's what I went into
aviation for. Before that I worked for the Wrights at Dayton. Well,
when I tried flying, it happened there was a prize offered for flying to
Manhattan and back, going round the Liberty Statue. I got hold of an
old Curtis machine and somehow I came back second in the race. But

--" here Blaine grinned at his own recollection, "but I pretty near busted
up that old Curtis! After that they kept me flying until I finally came
over here."
The Sergeant frowned then smiled and jotted something down on his
pad.
"Go and see Monsieur Cheval. If he is not well enough to go with you
-- well, have you anyone else in view?"
"Yes, sir. My partner, who has gone with me on several raids. He's all
right --"
"If you were disabled or killed, could he bring this machine back?"
"Yes, sir. He is as good as I am. Cool as a cucumber, but he -- he's
rather modest. In fact, if I don't get Cheval, I must have him, with your
permission of course."
"Or without it, eh?" Anson again smiled, this time genially. "Well, well!
Do what I have said. If you have to do without Cheval, bring that
youngster who is so modest to me. I will judge." And the Sergeant
turned off, resuming his penciling and further wandering as if Blaine
were not there.
Half an hour later Lafe stood by the cot where a shallow-faced,
trim-mustached man lay groaning discontentedly. At sight of the young
American he raised up to a sitting position, disclosing his right arm and
wrist still in splints and bandages. Moreover the pains of moving
himself made him groan and ejaculate after the mercurial manner or the
Frenchman unused to lying still and eager always to be up and doing.
"Ah, it