Back over the 'drome he signaled with his Very light pistol for landing lights, his take-off having been too sudden to permit of thinking of ground flares. He circled the field, waiting for the lights. No response. He signaled again. Still no response. "Too much excitement, I guess," he mused. Then he flew low over the remains of the burning plane, around which had gathered a large group--large enough, McGee thought, to include every man of the squadron from the C.O. down to the lowliest greaseball. "Humph! A fine target you'd make!" Red snorted, and felt like throwing his Very pistol into the group. "Well, here goes! I've made darker landings than this. And if I crack up--" he smiled as a grim Irish bull flashed through his mind--"it will be a good lesson to the ground crew. Nothing like Irish humor at a time like this." 2 If one who stands less than five feet six and is freckled of face and red of hair can command hauteur and dignity, then it can be said that a few minutes later McGee, with hauteur and dignity, strode into the excited, gabbling group that surrounded the burning German plane. For a moment none of them recognized him. With hands on hips, arms akimbo, he stood watching them. He was still just a little too mad to trust his tongue. Major Cowan was the first to notice him. "Ah! Lieutenant McGee! I am--" "No sir, I am Lieutenant McGee's ghost. McGee got his neck broken over there just now--trying to make a landing in the dark. Your ground crew were exceedingly helpful to him, Major. So nice of them to obey his signals so promptly." For once Cowan was at a disadvantage. "Gad, man! Did you signal?" "Oh, yes. I waved my hand. Rather original idea, don't you think? Perhaps you weren't expecting me to come back." "Frankly, Lieutenant, I wasn't." The look on Cowan's face was one of genuine admiration. "You have done a courageous thing, Lieutenant--and I thought it foolhardy. I said as much to Lieutenant Larkin, and I apologize to you, here, in the presence of all these men who witnessed your courage." All the others thereupon surged around McGee, pumping his hand vigorously and clapping him on the back. McGee's anger faded. It was a thing that never stayed long with him. "Is Larkin here?" he asked. "He was," Cowan answered. "Came a few minutes after you took off, but when I refused him a ship he got mad as a hornet, bawled out the light crew and--and me, and then jumped back in his car and rode off. Rather tempestuous fellow." "If he had stayed here," McGee said, regretfully, "my Camel wouldn't now be standing over yonder on its nose with its undercarriage wiped off. He'd at least think of landing lights." He pushed his way through the crowd toward the burning embers of the twisted, broken and charred plane. "Pilot burned to a crisp, I suppose," he mused half aloud. Hampden, who was standing nearest, answered: