"No, just came. You see the station is not really finished yet, but they are hurrying it along to beat the cars. Did you spot that concrete runway as you came up? A daisy, isn't it? Slope just right, and no skimping on the width. Well, that's only one of the runways we're going to have. Over on the other side, the plans call for three or four more." "And what do these sailors do?" I had noticed a large number of sailors about. "They look after our machines and the balloons. You see this is a regular aviation section just the same as the army has, and the sailors are trained mechanics, repair men, clerks and so forth. They're rather taking it easy now because the planes have been somewhat slow in reaching us. You know as well as I do the rumpus that's been made in the States over the air program. Things are breezing up mighty fast now, however, and every supply ship that puts into the harbour brings some of our equipment. The Navy's ready, the camps are being organized, the men are trained; it's up to the manufacturers to hustle along our machines. Please try to make them realize that when you write." "But, say," put in another, "don't, for the love of Pete, run away with the idea that we haven't any equipment. We've got some planes and some balloons. But we want more, more, more. Anything to keep the Germans on the go." "What do you use?" I asked. "Mostly balloons," put in a third speaker, a quiet young Westerner who had thus far not joined in the conversation. "Most of us are balloon observers, though Jos here," he indicated the Bostonian, "is a sea-plane artist. He runs one of the planes." "Come," said I, "tell the thrilling story." "There isn't any story," groaned Jos, "that's just the trouble. I've been fooling round these coasts and out by the harbour mouth in the hope of spotting a sub till I feel as if I'd used up all the gasoline in the British Isles. Those destroyers have spilled the beans. Fritz doesn't dare to come round. Ever try fishing in a place from which the fish have been thoroughly scared away? It's like that. Mine laying submarines used to be round the mouth of the harbour all the time, now Fritz is never seen or heard from.... The destroyers have spilled the beans. The balloon hounds are the whole show here. Tell him about it, Mac. You've taken more trips than any of the others." The disgruntled sea planer knocked a bull-dog pipe on his shoe, and was still.