"At Mineola, in the States. They kept every applicant in the shops -- some of them for weeks, others permanently." "How happened it they didn't keep you there?" Anson was grinning now. "Well, Sir, I wanted to learn to fly -- high. That's what I went into aviation for. Before that I worked for the Wrights at Dayton. Well, when I tried flying, it happened there was a prize offered for flying to Manhattan and back, going round the Liberty Statue. I got hold of an old Curtis machine and somehow I came back second in the race. But --" here Blaine grinned at his own recollection, "but I pretty near busted up that old Curtis! After that they kept me flying until I finally came over here." The Sergeant frowned then smiled and jotted something down on his pad. "Go and see Monsieur Cheval. If he is not well enough to go with you -- well, have you anyone else in view?" "Yes, sir. My partner, who has gone with me on several raids. He's all right --" "If you were disabled or killed, could he bring this machine back?" "Yes, sir. He is as good as I am. Cool as a cucumber, but he -- he's rather modest. In fact, if I don't get Cheval, I must have him, with your permission of course." "Or without it, eh?" Anson again smiled, this time genially. "Well, well! Do what I have said. If you have to do without Cheval, bring that youngster who is so modest to me. I will judge." And the Sergeant turned off, resuming his penciling and further wandering as if Blaine were not there. Half an hour later Lafe stood by the cot where a shallow-faced, trim-mustached man lay groaning discontentedly. At sight of the young American he raised up to a sitting position, disclosing his right arm and wrist still in splints and bandages. Moreover the pains of moving himself made him groan and ejaculate after the mercurial manner or the Frenchman unused to lying still and eager always to be up and doing. "Ah, it ees mon comrade Blaine! Ver welcome -- mooch so! Wish mooch you speak ze language, ze French." Monsieur Cheval, really a noted aviator, had chummed much with the American contingent and had been in the States once, though only for a short time. But he had learned "ze language" -- after a fashion. When Blaine briefly explained what he wanted and what the squadron commander had said, Cheval lay back with a deep sigh, saying: "Merci, comrade!" Here he chuckled. "I like to go: I want to go! But I no use to you now. Not at all! I no use to myself. Voila! I got well queek; better so here; not over yon in No-Man's-Land. But you be sure bring my enfant back safe, my Bleriot -- Ah! A great baby is my Bleriot!" Blaine promised to do his best. His pal and comrade, Orris Erwin, was also good, safe -- in short, reliable.