"Now!" exclaimed Derek aloud, although he knew not why. The nose of the machine rose slightly; there was a perceptible jar, another, and then a series of bumps that decreased in force although they increased in duration. Mechanically the young pilot cut off his engine, and after travelling a few yards the 'plane came to a standstill. "By Jove! I've landed," he soliloquized. "Wonder how I did it?" Rippondene clambered out, sliding to the ground, and began to swing his arms to restore the circulation. "Hurry up, old bird!" he exclaimed pleasantly. "We're the last down, and lunch will be over if we don't look sharp. Yes, we'll make a good airman of you yet. You've got it in you. Matter of fact I only had to touch the joy-stick once, and that was when you tried to loop the loop in that cloud. Didn't know you did, eh? I'm not surprised. We've all been in the same boat." CHAPTER III The Derelict Lunch was almost over when Derek entered the crowded mess in which the quirks of Averleigh did justice to the plain but substantial food provided by a paternal administration for the benefit of the airmen of to-morrow. The air was buzzing with animated conversation, mostly upon subjects entirely unconnected with the serious art of aviation. Concealing his anxiety to hear how his chum fared, Derek took a recently-vacated chair at Kaye's side. The latter nodded appreciatively as he passed Daventry a bowl containing a concoction which must never be referred to as margarine, but always as "nut butter". "Lorry's going into Rockport," announced Kaye. "It leaves here at six. Coming?" "What's the scheme?" asked Derek. "Nothing much to do in Rockport, is there?" "It will be a change," replied his chum. "And we can walk back." "Eight miles," objected Daventry, shrugging his shoulders. "Bit steep, eh? Very well then, I'm on it." The meal finished, the cadets adjourned for ten minutes' "stand easy" before the afternoon parade, a purely perfunctory ceremonial which takes place at 1.30. "Well, how went it with you?" asked Kaye, as the two made their way to the fives court. "Not so dusty," replied Derek modestly. "And you?" Kaye grinned. "Smashed a couple of landing-wheels," he replied. "It was hard luck, but no one seemed to mind very much. It was topping up there, though. I'm all out for another joy-ride to-morrow. Rough luck on Dixon." "What was that?" asked Daventry. "Didn't you hear? You know him, don't you?" "The little merchant with a mole on the point of his chin? I was yarning with him last night." "That's the fellow," agreed Kaye. "'Fraid he's crashed for good. Didn't clear the pine-trees, and ripped off the left-hand plane. Came down like a stone, of course, and they've taken him to hospital with a compound fracture of the thigh. Old Biggs is rather cut up about it, because Dixon had a good reputation as a centre-forward. Just the fellow we wanted for the First Eleven."