ewre324/Tiny-gutenberg · Datasets at Hugging Face

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of the colonel's, I think. Nice lot of boys. Young, but getting on
fast. I have seen one of them, a French boy, quite a bit lately, and
if they are all as good at locating engine trouble as he is they will
go far in this game before they are old men. Ask the tall youngster.
He will be tickled to death. I don't suppose he has been up before,
but he will be a good passenger. Be careful and don't scare him.
Don't try any stunts. Shall I sing out to him?"

"I guess so. I don't much care who it is so long as he weighs up to
average, and that fellow looks pretty husky."

"Here, young fellow! You are needed here for a minute," called out
Fanshaw.

Bob trotted over to the plane at once.

"What were you at?" asked the instructor.

"Varnishing," replied Bob. "Just finished."

"This is Lieutenant Fauver. He is trying this new chaser. She is
the finest thing we have seen here, and he wants to give her a spin
with a passenger up. Hop in if you like."

The pilot smiled and shook Bob's hand, then added another invitation.
It was hardly necessary. Bob was overjoyed. Often the boys had
discussed going up, but a fair frequency of minor accidents made the
officers at the camp chary about any unnecessary risks. Consequently,
the Brighton boys had decided that their best plan was to say nothing
about flying as passengers until someone suggested it to them. That
one of them might be of any possible use as a passenger had never
entered their heads.

A few moments after, the new chaser was soaring upward with a roar
of engine exhaust that told of pride of power. Bob was in the snug
front seat undergoing an experience whose like he had never dreamed
of. His youthful imagination had often tried to picture what it
would be like to be up in a swift flying-machine, but the sense
of power and the exhilaration of swinging triumphantly through space
gave him a new sensation.

"This," he thought, "is the greatest game of all. This is what one
day I will be doing to some purpose."

His mind went out to that day when he would be guiding his own machine
on a hostile errand, over the enemy's country, perhaps. The fine,
high enthusiasm of youth rushed through him and his pulses beat faster
as he pictured himself, a knight of the air, starting forth on a
quest that might mean great danger, but would, with sufficient
foresight, care and determination, result in disaster for the
antagonist rather than for himself.

Higher and higher climbed the swift plane, no faltering in its stride.
The beat of the engines was as rhythmical to experienced ears as the
regular swing and lilt of some perfectly rendered piece of music to
the ears of a master musician.

Bob noticed the country below, but was too much absorbed with his own
thoughts to give much attention to details of the wonderful panorama
that stretched away for miles and miles, until they had soared to a
height that made blurred lines of roads and hedges far under them,
and caused even houses and outbuildings to grow increasingly
indistinguishable. Only the silver band of the little river, winding
in graceful curves and catching the afternoon sun, remained an unfailing
landmark.

Then suddenly came an abrupt silence. Bob's heart leaped to his
throat. What had happened? No sooner had his inner consciousness
asked the question than his common sense had answered it. The pilot
had shut off the engine, of course. Already the powerful plane
was heading downward over the trackless path up which it had risen,
and was gliding with a soft rush of air which produced a floating
sensation.

"How did you like that?" asked Lieutenant Fauver.

"Great," said Bob. Great! He wanted to say more. He wanted to
explain that a new world had opened to him. That he had felt the
call that would leave him restless until he, too, had mastered one
of those marvelous steeds of the air, and was free to soar at will
wherever he chose to direct his mount. Great! The word expressed
so little. Bob thought of a dozen things to say, but heaved a big
sigh of genuine content, and left them all unsaid.

Fauver was of much the same mold as Bob. He caught something of the
younger boy's mood. He knew how the lad felt. His memory took him
back to his own first flight. How long ago it seemed! How impressed
he had been at his first real taste of the sweets of the air-game!
How utterly incapable of expressing his feeling!

So he respected the frame of mind of the lad in front of him and
volplaned down in silence, trying the stability of the plane by wide
spirals, banking it just enough to be delightful to a passenger,
without going far enough to cause the slightest apprehension or
nervousness.

It was proving a priceless experience to Bob. He seemed transported
to another existence. Then the earth began to come nearer. Things
below took quick form. Bob realized that soon they would be landing.
Just at the last he thought the ground was rising toward them at an

of the colonel's, I think. Nice lot of boys. Young, but getting on

fast. I have seen one of them, a French boy, quite a bit lately, and

if they are all as good at locating engine trouble as he is they will

go far in this game before they are old men. Ask the tall youngster.

He will be tickled to death. I don't suppose he has been up before,

but he will be a good passenger. Be careful and don't scare him.

Don't try any stunts. Shall I sing out to him?"

"I guess so. I don't much care who it is so long as he weighs up to

average, and that fellow looks pretty husky."

"Here, young fellow! You are needed here for a minute," called out

Fanshaw.

Bob trotted over to the plane at once.

"What were you at?" asked the instructor.

"Varnishing," replied Bob. "Just finished."

"This is Lieutenant Fauver. He is trying this new chaser. She is

the finest thing we have seen here, and he wants to give her a spin

with a passenger up. Hop in if you like."

The pilot smiled and shook Bob's hand, then added another invitation.

It was hardly necessary. Bob was overjoyed. Often the boys had

discussed going up, but a fair frequency of minor accidents made the

officers at the camp chary about any unnecessary risks. Consequently,

the Brighton boys had decided that their best plan was to say nothing

about flying as passengers until someone suggested it to them. That

one of them might be of any possible use as a passenger had never

entered their heads.

A few moments after, the new chaser was soaring upward with a roar

of engine exhaust that told of pride of power. Bob was in the snug

front seat undergoing an experience whose like he had never dreamed

of. His youthful imagination had often tried to picture what it

would be like to be up in a swift flying-machine, but the sense

of power and the exhilaration of swinging triumphantly through space

gave him a new sensation.

"This," he thought, "is the greatest game of all. This is what one

day I will be doing to some purpose."

His mind went out to that day when he would be guiding his own machine

on a hostile errand, over the enemy's country, perhaps. The fine,

high enthusiasm of youth rushed through him and his pulses beat faster

as he pictured himself, a knight of the air, starting forth on a

quest that might mean great danger, but would, with sufficient

foresight, care and determination, result in disaster for the

antagonist rather than for himself.

Higher and higher climbed the swift plane, no faltering in its stride.

The beat of the engines was as rhythmical to experienced ears as the

regular swing and lilt of some perfectly rendered piece of music to

the ears of a master musician.

Bob noticed the country below, but was too much absorbed with his own

thoughts to give much attention to details of the wonderful panorama

that stretched away for miles and miles, until they had soared to a

height that made blurred lines of roads and hedges far under them,

and caused even houses and outbuildings to grow increasingly

indistinguishable. Only the silver band of the little river, winding

in graceful curves and catching the afternoon sun, remained an unfailing

landmark.

Then suddenly came an abrupt silence. Bob's heart leaped to his

throat. What had happened? No sooner had his inner consciousness

asked the question than his common sense had answered it. The pilot

had shut off the engine, of course. Already the powerful plane

was heading downward over the trackless path up which it had risen,

and was gliding with a soft rush of air which produced a floating

sensation.

"How did you like that?" asked Lieutenant Fauver.

"Great," said Bob. Great! He wanted to say more. He wanted to

explain that a new world had opened to him. That he had felt the

call that would leave him restless until he, too, had mastered one

of those marvelous steeds of the air, and was free to soar at will

wherever he chose to direct his mount. Great! The word expressed

so little. Bob thought of a dozen things to say, but heaved a big

sigh of genuine content, and left them all unsaid.

Fauver was of much the same mold as Bob. He caught something of the

younger boy's mood. He knew how the lad felt. His memory took him

back to his own first flight. How long ago it seemed! How impressed

he had been at his first real taste of the sweets of the air-game!

How utterly incapable of expressing his feeling!

So he respected the frame of mind of the lad in front of him and

volplaned down in silence, trying the stability of the plane by wide

spirals, banking it just enough to be delightful to a passenger,

without going far enough to cause the slightest apprehension or

nervousness.

It was proving a priceless experience to Bob. He seemed transported

to another existence. Then the earth began to come nearer. Things

below took quick form. Bob realized that soon they would be landing.

Just at the last he thought the ground was rising toward them at an