Air Stories, April 1936 — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AIR STORIES sending us up to bring down Huns with nothing but a pop-gun ! ”’ ‘“Why not, sir? It’s quite possible.’’ There must have been a very devil of mischief in the Hon. Charles Edward that morning. All heads turned in his direction. This outspokenness was some- thing quite unusual in him. He stood staring with level eyes across the table at Moldred, a faint smile playing round his lips. Moldred gulped, utterly taken aback, then: ‘‘Do I understand you to say, Sergeant Westringham,’’ he said thickly, ' **that a Hun could be brought down with nothing but a pop-gun?”? ‘* That is what I said, sir.’’ ‘Would you undertake to do it yourself ? ’’ sneered Moldred. ‘* Certainly, sir.’’ ‘With nothing but a pop-gun ? ’”’ ‘*T shouldn’t even need the pop-gun.’’ Moldred took a step towards the table and leaned forward, resting his hands on it. A look of greed crept into his eyes. He knew that the Hon. Charles Edward was well endowed with this world’s wealth. Himself, he was generally in debt. ‘Would you care to take a bet on this, Sergeant Westringham ? ”’ he asked, almost eagerly. ‘« If you like, sir.’’ Moldred’s big coarse face showed a flicker of hesitation. He was not going to be caught. ‘‘ You undertake to bring the Hun down without using bullets ? ’’ ‘* No bullets.’’ ‘* Or bombs ? ”’ “* No bombs.”’ ‘¢ Or aerial darts or Verey lights ? ”’ ‘¢T shan’t need them, either.’’ There was a hush in the room as when a play is about to begin. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on Charles Edward’s calm face. Moldred was running the tip of his tongue slowly backwards and forwards between his thick lips, a picture of greed and caution. ‘*T tell you what, Sergeant Westring- ham,’’ he said. ‘‘ Will you bet me a level thousand francs on this P ”’ The Hon. Charles Edward nodded. ‘‘If you like, sir,’? he said. ‘‘ Only the bet need not be level. If you win, I will give you a cheque for a thousand francs, and if I win you can give me a tin of fifty cigarettes.’’ A leer spread over Moldred’s face. ‘* Done ! ”’ he said. WAS walking over to the hangars to get into flying kit for second patrol, when Charles Edward caught up with me. ‘* Trevelyan, I wonder if you would use your influence to get me the loan of a motor-bike and sidecar this evening? ”’ ‘*Not unless you tell me how the blazes you are going to win that tin of gaspers,’’ I told him. ‘‘Then there’s nothing doing,’’ he grinned. ‘‘Pity! I shall have to as 93 ‘* All right, I’ll do it,’’ I put in hastily. ‘* But what’s the idear If you’ve got no one to go on this trip with you ey ‘*ButI have. Pére Rameau is coming with me.”’ Pére Rameau was a well-to-do farmer of the district, an energetic old man who had fought in the war of soixante- dix. All three of his sons were with the colours. ‘‘Why Pére Rameau, for goodness’ sake ?”’ ‘* Because he possesses the longest ladder in Northern France,’’ was the unsatisfactory answer. CHAPTER Il Westringham Claims a Bet HOOF ! The crashing cough of an ‘* Archie ’’ shell exploding somewhere not nearly far enough below my right wing warned me to change my height and direction. A blob of intense black smoke appeared against the panorama of the war-scarred earth nine thousand feet below and, mushrooming out until it had thinned to a dirty grey, drifted back to join similar bursts behind me. The line ‘‘ Archie’’ was very active that morning. I looked at my watch. In a minute or two I should be relieved 296 COnmniclooo S (Cl Q)