Garbed in their new feathers and
"all their war paint," as Mr. Mann called it, they reported at the
airdrome main gate just as the first big wooden crate came past on
a giant truck. Inside that case, every boy of them knew, was
the first flying machine to reach the new grounds. They felt it
an omen.
A few minutes later they were in the austere presence of Colonel
Marker, who was frankly pleased with their soldierly appearance
and the quiet common-sense of their uniforms, which bore no fancy
additions of any sort.
Grace Corwin had seen to that, though more than one furtive suggestion
from one boy or another had to be overruled. Bob Haines thought the
letters "B.B." on the shoulders would vastly help the effect. Crossed
flags on the right sleeve would have suited Dicky Mann better. Fat
Benson's voice was raised for brass buttons. Jimmy Hill's
pretensions ran to a gilt aeroplane propellor for the front of each
soft khaki hat. But Grace was firm. "No folderols," was her
dictum.
Pages:
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40