of pilots.

A brand new, rakish, up-to-date machine it is, of highly polished,
beautifully finished wood, fabric as tight as a drum, polished metal,
and every part so perfectly "stream-lined" to minimize drift, which is
the resistance of the air to the passage of the machine, that to the
veriest tyro the remark of the Pilot is obviously justified.

"Clean looking 'bus, looks almost alive and impatient to be off. Ought
to have a turn for speed with those lines."

"Yes," replies the Flight-Commander, "it's the latest of its type and
looks a beauty. Give it a good test. A special report is required on
this machine."

The A.M.'s[8] have now placed the Aeroplane in position facing the
gentle air that is just beginning to make itself evident; the engine
Fitter, having made sure of a sufficiency of oil and petrol in the
tanks, is standing by the Propeller; the Rigger, satisfied with a job
well done, is critically "vetting" the machine by eye; four A.M.'s are
at their posts, ready to hold the Aeroplane from jumping the blocks
which have been placed in front of the wheels; and the Flight-Sergeant
is awaiting the Pilot's orders.

As the Pilot approaches the Aeroplane the Rigger springs to attention
and reports, "All correct, sir," but the Fitter does not this morning
report the condition of the Engine, for well he knows that this pilot
always personally looks after the preliminary engine test. The latter,
in leathern kit, warm flying boots and goggled, climbs into his seat,
and now, even more than before, has the Aeroplane an almost living
appearance, as if straining to be off and away. First he moves the
Controls to see that everything is clear, for sometimes when the
Aeroplane is on the ground the control lever or "joy-stick" is lashed
fast to prevent the wind from blowing the controlling surfaces about and
possibly damaging them.

The air of this early dawn is distinctly chilly, and the A.M.'s are
beginning to stamp their cold feet upon the dewy grass, but very careful
and circumspect is the Pilot, as he mutters to himself, "Don't worry and
flurry, or you'll die in a hurry."

At last he fumbles for his safety belt, but with a start remembers the
Pitot Air Speed Indicator, and, adjusting it to zero, smiles as he
hears the Pitot-head's gruff voice, "Well, I should think so, twenty
miles an hour I was registering. That's likely to cause a green pilot
to stall the Aeroplane. Pancake, they call it." And the Pilot, who
is a