An air pilot and the field of broken wings THE LUCKY LITTLE STIFF By H. P. S. Greene France. Mud. A khaki-clad column of fours slogging along to the rhythm of their own muttered but heart-felt blasphemy--a common enough sight in the winter of 1917-1918. But in one particular this procession of sufferers was unique. On the shoulders of each performer shone bright silver bars, and their more or less manly chests were spanned by Sam Browne belts. A casual observer would have taken them for officers. But no, on each breast was a pair of silver wings, and their uniforms were of well-fitting but variously designed whipcord. The pot-bellied little person in the indecently short yellow serge blouse who led them was an officer; his followers were flying lieutenants. They were a part of the personnel-in-training of the great American aviation field of Issy-la-Boue, the advance guard of the ten thousand American bombing planes which publicity agents said were going to blast the Huns out of Berlin. The column passed between two long barracks, one of which, filled to capacity with double-decker bunks, yawned thru an unfinished open end. “Squads right!” shrilled the pot-bellied one with the captain’s bars in a startling tremolo. “Heh!” The men behind squads-righted in a dispirited fashion and came to a halt in straggling lines. The squawky voice continued: “I want to say that you are the most undisciplined body of men I ever saw. That--er--mélée you staged when you were unwittingly marched into--er--contact with a body of enlisted men was the most disgraceful exhibition on the part of officers so-called I ever saw in my life. I--er--want to say you are a disgrace to the service. That’s all I want to say. Oh, I--er--believe Lieutenant Crosby has something to say to you.” Flying-Lieutenant Crosby stepped forward and cleared his throat. He was a born Babbitt, a destined getter-together. “Men,” he began, and then hesitated. Perhaps he should have said “officers,” but that wouldn’t have sounded right either. He rushed on, “I want to remind you that Happy’s and Sam’s funeral is this afternoon. All flying is called off as usual. There wasn’t much of a crowd out for poor old Bill yesterday. I know it’s a long walk and all that but we want to get a good crowd out this afternoon. The cadets are going to try to get a good crowd out for their fellow who got bumped, and we want to get a good crowd out too. That’s all I wanted to say.” He retired to the ranks. The fat officer shouted “Dismissed!” Then he changed his mind. “As you were. The commanding officer wanted me to announce that quarantine to the post is on again until the perpetrator of the outrage of stopping the Paris Express has been discovered and punished. Dismissed!”