"Phew! Just look there, he's met an air-pocket, and it's all over with the young devil," shouted a civilian, evidently a representative of the New Air Board. But, strange to say, all their prophecies were wrong, for, recovering himself, the daring young flyer, Dastral as he was called, had the machine under perfect control, and was just as easy and comfortable up there at three thousand feet--and far happier--than if he had been in an arm-chair in the officers' mess at the aerodrome. "There's a nose dive for you!" cried the major who commanded the Squadron at the aerodrome, and who had done more than any one to encourage the lad, and bring him out. As he spoke, the youth was speeding to earth in a thrilling nose-dive which must have been at the rate of anything approaching a hundred and fifty miles an hour. For an instant it seemed as if the prediction of one of the gloomy prophets would now be fulfilled and the aviator would crash; but no, after a dive of a thousand feet Dastral, as cool as a cucumber, jammed over the controls, flattened out for a few seconds, looped three times in succession, then spiralling and banking with wonderful and mathematical precision, shut off the engine, and volplaned down to the ground, touching the earth lightly at the rate of some fifty miles an hour, taxied across the level turf, and brought up within ten yards of the astonished spectators. "Humph! He's won his wings, major," exclaimed one of the small crowd. "So he has," cried another. "He knows all the tricks of the air." "Yes," exclaimed a third; "if he keeps on like that, he will prove a match for Himmelman himself, some day, should he ever chance to meet with him." Now Himmelman was the crack German flyer--the Air-Fiend of the western front--the man who had made the German Flying Corps what it was, and had earned for it the great traditions it had already won. A moment later, the youth leapt lightly from the cockpit, gave his hand to his observer to help him down, and, stepping lightly up to his Commanding Officer, saluted smartly. "Capital, Dastral! You shall have your wings to-morrow. If anybody has ever won them you have," exclaimed the major, grasping the lad's hand, and greeting him warmly. "Thank you, sir. It's very kind of you to say so," replied Dastral. "Not at all. You've won them yourself, my boy, and I congratulate you. But, I say, you played the very devil up there. There are very few of our fellows who can do those monkey-tricks without crashing. It's a mercy you're alive, boy." "Oh, it was only an extra turn or two, sir, just for the spectators. But, Jock, here, sir, my observer, is he all right for his brevet also?" "Yes, he shall be gazetted and granted an observer's wing. I will get them through orders at once."