“Attention to orders,” called the section leader the morning after Ted and a number of others had reported for their new class of instruction. “Boyle, Currier, Davis, and Edwards report to Lieutenant Livingston, Ship Number 188. Green, Hammond, Jones, and Murphy report to Lieutenant Talbot, Ship Number 210,” and so on down the line, ending with a final “Fall out.” Ted could not believe his ears. Was it possible that the Lieutenant Livingston who was to be his instructor was Stanley? They had not communicated with one another since entering the service. Ted hurried to Ship Number 188, which had been pointed out to him by one of the mechanics. “Lieutenant Livingston, sir?” he inquired of the officer evidently in charge of the ship. “Yes, what can I do for you? Why--if it isn’t Ted. What are you doing here? I am certainly glad to see you.” Ted explained how he had been transferred from the infantry and had just completed his course at ground school; also that he had been assigned to Stanley for flying instruction. “This is luck. Let’s get at it right away; we can talk more to-night. Hop into the rear seat and we’ll start right off.” “What do I have to do?” Ted asked excitedly. “This is just going to be a joy ride around the field. Don’t do or touch anything; sit as comfortably as you can and look around; watch the ground and the air and the other ships.” So saying he helped Ted into his place and showed him how to adjust the buckle of his safety-belt across his lap. “You will hardly ever need the belt,” he said, “but it is just as well to get into the habit of fastening it.” Then he climbed into the forward cockpit and opened and closed the throttle a number of times, while the motor roared and slowed down alternately. At a signal to the crew chief, the men removed the blocks from under the wheels, and taking hold of the lower wings swung the ship around until it faced the flying-field, which was into the wind. An instant later, with an increasing roar, the machine was tearing across the ground at a terrific speed. Ted looked down over the edges of the cockpit, and saw the grass rushing backward in a blurred, green streak. A frightful wind struck his face, cutting off his breath and making his eyes water. He ducked his head behind the little celluloid wind-shield to adjust his goggles more snugly, and when he looked again they had left the ground. He closed his eyes for a moment; there was no sensation of motion whatever; they seemed to be standing stock-still, like a kite at the end of a string, facing a cyclone of wind, but the thunder of the engine was deafening.