h the pain
that he could not control, while his rather bold forehead and delicate,
sensitive features suggested a man of nerve and nerves who might have
left experiments in a laboratory for an adventure in the air. There was
a kind of challenge in their glances; the challenge of an ancient feud
of their peoples; of the professional rivalry of polite duellists.
Lanstron's slight figure seemed to express the weaker number of the
three million soldiers of the Browns; Westerling's bulkier one, the four
million five hundred thousand of the Grays.

"You had a narrow squeak and you made a very snappy recovery at the last
second," said Westerling, passing a compliment across the white posts.
Marta could literally see a white post there between the two.

"That's in the line of duty for you and me, isn't it?" Lanstron
replied, his voice thick with pain as he forced a smile.

There was no pose in his fortitude. He was evidently disgusted with
himself over the whole business, and he turned to the group of three
officers and a civilian who alighted from a big Brown army automobile as
if he were prepared to have them say their worst. They seemed between
the impulse of reprimanding and embracing him.

"I hope that you are not surprised at the result," said the oldest of
the officers, a man of late middle age, rather affectionately and
teasingly. He wore a single order on his breast, a plain iron cross, and
the insignia of his rank was that of a field-marshal.

"Not now. I should be again, sir," said Lanstron, looking full at the
field-marshal in the appeal of one asking for another chance. "I was
wool-gathering. My mind was off duty for a second and I got a lesson in
self-control at the expense of the machine. I treated it worse than it
deserved, and it treated me better than I deserved. But I shall not
wool-gather next time. I've got a reminder more urgent than a string
tied around my finger."

"Yes, that hand needs immediate attention," said the doctor. He and
another officer began helping Lanstron into the automobile.

"The first flight ever made over a range--even a low one! Thirty miles
straightaway!" remarked the civilian, making a cursory examination of
the wreck of the machine which was a pattern known by his name.

"Very educational for our young man," said the field-marshal, and at
sight of Mrs. Galland paused while they exchanged the greetings of old
friends.

"Your Excellency, may we send back for you, sir?" call