Quite soon, still driven smoothly by your motor, you hover above the alighting point; and then moving over a little switch upon the dashboard before him, the airman cuts off his power. The booming drone of the engine dies away, and at the same moment you feel the craft tilt forward, and see the aerodrome below, fringed by the roofs of its sheds. And, in the sudden stillness which has fallen, you hear the wail of the wind, shrieking past your struts and planes. Down quite gently glides the craft, and you see a movement of little figures near some sheds; then you touch ground without shock, and the machine runs forward a short distance and halts. This stage of your flight is shown in Fig. 98. The pilot glances at a little clock that is fixed on his dashboard; then stands up to stretch his limbs. “Just over an hour,” he says. “Not so bad. With the 14 miles to Kempton Park and then the 41 here--that makes 55. She’s been doing a steady 50 an hour.” Now a little group surrounds the machine, and calls up questions about your flight. “What sort of a trip, old man?” queries a brother pilot of the driver of your craft. “Is the wind steady up above?” asks a young man in a flying helmet, who is one of the pupils of the flying school. Answering the eager questioners as best you can, you clamber down from the hull. Several aeroplanes, you now observe, are out upon the aerodrome, and here and there a novice is at work--either “rolling” his craft to and fro, or attempting a short, straight flight; and, even though it is still early, visitors may be seen near the sheds; they have motored out from Brighton to watch the practice flights.