The Brighton Boys with the Flying Corps | Page 7

pretty good size? There might be some useful things to do now and
again that would take muscle."
"I am about the same size as most of the rest," replied Harry.
"You look as if you could do quite a lot," laughed the major, as he
walked down the path, leaving behind him a boy who was nearer the
seventh heaven of delight than he had ever been before.
Before the end of the week the colonel came. The boys had their plans
cut and dried. Harry's sister Grace had taken an unusual interest in them,
and had advised them wisely as to uniforms. Major Phelps seemed
interested in them, too, in a way. At least, he called at the Corwin home
more than once and talked to Grace about that and other things.
Colonel Marker was rather grizzled and of an almost forbidding
appearance to the boys. They feared him whole-heartedly the moment
they laid eyes on him. His voice was gruff and he had a habit of
wrinkling his brows that had at times struck terror into older hearts than

those of the Brighton boys. But he was a very kindly man, nevertheless,
in spite of his bluff exterior.
Major Phelps told him about the eight lads, borrowing, perhaps, some
of Grace Corwin's enthusiasm for the moment, and the colonel was
favorably impressed from the start with what he called "a mighty fine
spirit." He thumped his fist on the table at which he sat when the major
told him of the boys and their hopes, and said explosively:
"Wish there were more like them in every town out here. We are too far
from the actual scene of war. Some people who are a lot older and who
should have a lot more realization of what we need and must have
before this war is over might take a good lesson from such youngsters.
I would like to see them."
That settled it. When the colonel took a thing up he adopted it
absolutely. In a day or so he would be talking of the little band of
Brighton boys as if the original project had been his from the very start.
"Boy aviation corps? Why not. Good for them. Can find them plenty to
do. When they get to the right size we can put 'em in the service. Why
not? Good to start young. Of course it is. Splendid idea. Must be good
stuff in 'em. Of course there is. Send 'em to me. Why not?"
Thus, before the boys were brought under the colonel's eye he had
really talked himself into an acceptance of the major's idea. The
morning he saw them, a little group of very eager and anxious
faces---bright, intelligent, fine faces they were, too---he said without
delay: "I have a use for you boys. I have thought of something for you
to do. Get some sort of rig so I can tell you when I see you, and come
to me again and I will set you at work."
Not long after, vacation time had come, and with it the new uniforms,
in neat, unpretentious khaki. Garbed in their new feathers and "all their
war paint," as Mr. Mann called it, they reported at the airdrome main
gate just as the first big wooden crate came past on a giant truck. Inside
that case, every boy of them knew, was the first flying machine to reach
the new grounds. They felt it an omen.

A few minutes later they were in the austere presence of Colonel
Marker, who was frankly pleased with their soldierly appearance and
the quiet common-sense of their uniforms, which bore no fancy
additions of any sort.
Grace Corwin had seen to that, though more than one furtive
suggestion from one boy or another had to be overruled. Bob Haines
thought the letters "B.B." on the shoulders would vastly help the effect.
Crossed flags on the right sleeve would have suited Dicky Mann better.
Fat Benson's voice was raised for brass buttons. Jimmy Hill's
pretensions ran to a gilt aeroplane propellor for the front of each soft
khaki hat. But Grace was firm. "No folderols," was her dictum. They
were banded together for work, not for show. Let additions come as the
fruit of service, if at all. And she had her way. Grace usually did.
"Glad to see you, boys. You will report to the sergeant-major, who will
take a list of your names, assign you your duties, and arrange your
hours of work. I am afraid there is no congressional grant from which
to reward you for your services by a money payment, but if you do
your work well, such as it is, I will keep an eye on you and see if I
cannot put you