He had been speaking rapidly, almost incoherently, but now he steadied himself and spoke carefully. "Then _he_ saw their reinforcements comin' up, one lot from north, t'other from south. They'd have cut us off. We were too busy scrappin' to watch. They had us cold, with us on our last rounds and nearly out of petrol. But _he_ saw them. He was shot down then--I dunno whether it was before or after it that he saw them; but he was goin' down right out of control--dead-leafing, then a spin, then leafing again. And he signalled----" The boy gulped, caught and steadied his voice again, and went on quietly. "You know; there's half a dozen coloured lights stuck in the dash-board in front of him--and his Verey pistol in the rack beside him. He picked out the proper coloured light--goin' down helplessly out of control--and took his pistol out of the rack ... and loaded it ... and put it over the side and fired his signal, 'Get back to the 'drome--return home,' whatever it is exactly--we all knew it meant to break off the scrap and clear out, anyway. But he wasn't done yet. He picked another light--the proper coloured light again ... and still knowin' he'd crash in the next few seconds ... and loaded and fired, 'I am out of action. Deputy Flight Leader carry on.' ... Then ... he crashed...." The boy gulped again and stopped, and for a space there was dead silence. "Thank you," said the Squadron Commander at last, very quietly, "I won't ask you for more now." The boy saluted and turned, but the Major spoke again. "There's a message here I've just had. You might like to read it." The pilot took it and read a message of congratulations and thanks from Headquarters on the work of the Air Services that day, saying how the Huns had been driven out of the air, how so many of them had been crashed, so many driven down out of control, with slight losses of so many machines to us. "On all the fronts engaged," the message finished, "the Squadrons have done well, and the Corps has had a good day." "A good day," said the boy bitterly, and spat a gust of oaths. "I--pardon, sir," he said, catching the Major's eye and the Colonel's quick glance. "But--Sonny was my pal; I was his chum, the best chum he had----" He checked himself again, and after a pause, "No, sir," he said humbly, "I beg your pardon. _You_ were always that to Sonny." He saluted again, very gravely and exactly, turned, and went. The Colonel rose. "It's true, too," said the Major, "I was; and he was the dearest chum to me. I fathered him since he was ten, when our Pater died. I taught him to fly--took him up dual myself, and I remember he was quick as a monkey in learning. I watched his first solo, with my heart in my mouth; and I had ten times the pride he had himself when he put his first wings up. And now ... he's gone."