I ran upstairs after lunch to-day to see old Harris. He has the
flat over mine, you know. In addition to this Harris is an author.
Sometimes he even gets money for it.
"Doin' a bit of work to-day, Harris?" I remarked casually.
"I'm doing a little flying story," he informed me with dignity.
"Oh, yes," I agreed carelessly, then woke up and stared hard.
"Flying?" I repeated. "But what the--I mean, what do you know about
flying, anyway?"
Brutality is the only thing with Harris. He was very hurt. He gasped
and glared at me in a most annoyed manner.
"I know a pretty good lot," he announced with some asperity. "I've
talked to dozens of pilots about it and I've read books on flying--and
the newspapers--"
"And don't forget you once passed Hendon in the train too, old son,"
I soothed him. "I'd no idea you were so well up in it. Sorry I spoke.
Let's see it; may I?"
Harris picked up a couple of sheets of paper from the desk and,
coughing imposingly, proceeded to read out his masterpiece:--
"Lionel Marchant came slowly out of the hangar, drawing on his long
fur gloves and studying his maps with an intent and keen face.
"His machine, a single-seater scout of the latest type, was just being
wheeled out and now stood glistening in the bright autumn sunshine,
which danced on the shining brasswork and threw deep shadows on the
grass beneath.
"The airman swung lightly into his seat; a final word or two with his
commanding officer and he flung over the levers and gave a sharp turn
to the starting handle.
"The powerful engine in front of him woke into life deafeningly and,
waving away the mechanics holding the wings, he pressed the clutch
pedal and moved slowly forward.
"His face is very grim and determined--he throws across another lever
and the low hum of the motor changes into a deep-throated roar.
Gathering speed, he goes faster and faster--now he is in the air--now
a little speck in the sky, heading for the enemy's lines--"
"Oh, no, please," I broke in feebly. "I can't stand any more just now.
You're not seriously thinking of having this published, are you?"
As in a dream I took the manuscript from his fingers and gazed blankly
at it whilst his indignant flow of speech passed harmlessly over my
head.
"But, Harris," I said at length, with infinite compassion in my voice,
"Harris, I love you as a brother, but this really is awful--why--well,
listen here"--
"'As the second German machine came down on them in a steep dive
Lionel gave a hasty glance behind him, where the huge engine raced
madly, and shouted excitedly to his observer.
"'The latter, swinging the machine gun round sharply, took rapid aim
and pressed the trigger--'"