“Hold everything! We’ll fix that all right,” Langdon would assure the victim. Then he would put the rambling DH into a tight power spin and cut down the altitude so fast that no rear seat observer would care to be present a second time. Or, if he did not spin, he would execute a vertical sideslip that, by rights, belonged to much smaller and trimmer craft. At any rate, each man he took up finished his observation class in one quick lesson. The unfortunate goldbrick would come back to Romo’, pea green and dead eyed. “Can he fly?” these boys who had liked Romo’ so well would say. “Can he! Oh, hell, give me air.” But no more air with Langdon. Within the week, he had every goldbrick off the instructor’s hands. “But I don’t want you to get too good, Langdon,” the instructor would warn. “They’ll keep you right here for the duration if you do. Then you’ll have to pull something raw to get moved. For instance, stop rolling your wheels across the shop roofs. You think they don’t see it, but the headquarters gang have been watching you. You know how they like to be entertained. Don’t show ’em anything. But here’s good news: “I’ve got you lined up for a mission to Paris. You’re going to lead a ferrying group close to the big town and deliver ten DH’s for Front line squadrons. No, you don’t get a smell of the Front. Your mission ends when you deliver the ferry at Orly. But you’re going to get a chance to _oo-la-la_, kid.” “Strange, but that leaves me cold,” Langdon replied. “I don’t want to fight that Guerre de Paree till after I’ve won the right to spread my line on the boulevards. Then I’ll strut. And don’t think that I don’t want to. Boy, I’m saving up for the biggest pair of chest wings that’s ever been worn on a Yank blouse. And that’s some big. And I’ve got me a swagger stick, too. It has a spark plug in the end of it, and a machine gun cartridge on the tip. You see, I’m a regulation Yank. All set and a-rarin’ to go--when the right time comes. Yes, sir, Paris is going to sit up and rub a pair of bleary eyes. Yankee Doodle’s going to ride right into town and on the make, too. “But how about giving me a final _lâche_ and kicking one _bon pilote_ toward the Promised Land?” “No can do right now, Langdon. But I’ll tell you what might be done. If a call for DH men comes down the line while you’re up Orly way, I’ll get a wire to you there and have your orders sent along. If you’re traveling light, take your personal junk by air on the ferry trip.” “I’ll do that,” Langdon said. “The other pair of socks won’t be any kind of a load for a DH’s observation pit. When do I head this ferry?”