T be done," and
things like that in a very loud voice, and the Designer tore his hair
and was furious, but the Directors, who were thinking of nothing but
Orders and Dividends, had the whip-hand of _him_, and so there you are,
and so poor beautiful Miss Efficiency was compromised.

All this time the Pilot is carefully buckling his belt and making
himself perfectly easy and comfortable, as all good pilots do. As he
straightens himself up from a careful inspection of the Deviation
Curve[10] of the Compass and takes command of the Controls, the Throttle
and the Ignition, the voices grow fainter and fainter until there is
nothing but a trembling of the Lift and Drift wires to indicate to his
understanding eye their state of tension in expectancy of the Great
Test.

"Petrol on?" shouts the Fitter to the Pilot.

"Petrol on," replies the Pilot.

"Ignition off?"

"Ignition off."

Round goes the Propeller, the Engine sucking in the Petrol Vapour with
satisfied gulps. And then--

"Contact?" from the Fitter.

"Contact," says the Pilot.

Now one swing of the Propeller by the Fitter, and the Engine is awake
and working. Slowly at first though, and in a weak voice demanding, "Not
too much Throttle, please. I'm very cold and mustn't run fast until my
Oil has thinned and is circulating freely. Three minutes slowly, as you
love me, Pilot."

Faster and faster turn the Engine and Propeller, and the Aeroplane,
trembling in all its parts, strains to jump the blocks and be off.
Carefully the Pilot listens to what the Engine Revolution Indicator
says. At last, "Steady at 1,500 revs. and I'll pick up the rest in the
Air." Then does he throttle down the Engine, carefully putting the lever
back to the last notch to make sure that in such position the throttle
is still sufficiently open for the Engine to continue working, as
otherwise it might lead to him "losing" his Engine in the air when
throttling down the power for descent. Then, giving the official signal,
he sees the blocks removed from the wheels, and the Flight-Sergeant
saluting he knows that all is clear to ascend. One more signal, and all
the A.M.'s run clear of the Aeroplane.

Then gently, gently mind you, with none of the "crashing on" bad Pilots
think so fine, he opens the Throttle and, the Propeller Thrust
overcoming its enemy the Drift, the Aeroplane moves forward.

"Ah!" says the Wind-screen, "that's Discipline, that is. Through my
little Triplex window I see mos