t jumped from his seat,
expecting M. Ciret to throw open the door and shout, "The British are
coming!" He actually believed for a second or two that it was the year
1775, and that he was sitting in one of the old roadside inns of
Massachusetts. The illusion was perfect, he said.

Now, why--etc., etc. At another time I should have been much
interested; but in the presence of new and splendid realities I could
not summon any enthusiasm for illusions. Nevertheless, I should have
had to listen to him indefinitely, had it not been for an event which
cut short all conversation and ended our first day at the _Ecole
d'Aviation_ in a truly spectacular manner.

Suddenly we heard the roar of motors just over the barracks, and, at
the same time, the siren sounded the alarm in a series of prolonged,
wailing shrieks. Some belated pilot was still in the air. We rushed
out to the field just as the flares were being lighted and placed on
the ground in the shape of an immense T, with the cross-bar facing in
the direction from which the wind was coming. By this time the hum of
motors was heard at a great distance, but gradually it increased in
volume and soon the light of the flares revealed the machine circling
rapidly over the _piste_. I was so much absorbed in watching it
manoeuvre for a landing that I did not see the crowd scattering to
safe distances. I heard many voices shouting frantic warnings, and so
ran for it, but, in my excitement, directly within the line of descent
of the machine. I heard the wind screaming through the wires, a
terrifying sound to the novice, and glancing hurriedly over my
shoulder, I saw what appeared to be a monster of gigantic proportions,
almost upon me. It passed within three metres of my head and landed
just beyond.

When at last I got to sleep, after a day filled with interesting
incidents, Paul Revere pursued me relentlessly through the mazes of a
weird and horrible dream. I was on foot, and shod with lead-soled
boots. He was in a huge, twin-motor Caudron and flying at a terrific
pace, only a few metres from the ground. I can see him now, as he
leaned far out over the hood of his machine, an aviator's helmet set
atilt over his powdered wig, and his eyes glowing like coals through
his goggles. He was waving two lighted torches and shouting, "The
British are coming! The British are coming!" in a voice strangely like
Drew's.

II

PENGUI