Air Stories, April 1936 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

AIR STORIES flying-helmet bearing the name Helmuth Franz v. Feldstr6m. All eyes turned on Moldred. First he gaped, then he glared, his red face turning a dark crimson. But in a moment he had recovered himself. He began to bluster. ‘* Yes, that’s all very well, but I want to see the German ’bus—with no bullet- holes in it.’’ ‘‘You can, if you like, sir. But meanwhile have a look at the cartridge- belt of my Vickers—with no empty spaces in it.’’ Moldred strode across and, returning with a scowl on his face, tossed a couple of coins to the Hon. Charles Edward. They fell om the grass. ‘‘The wager was for cigarettes, not money,’’ Charles Edward reminded him coldly, as the other turned on his heel. The coins were left lying there. ‘¢ How the devil did you manage it ? ”’ I asked him while he was pulling off his Sidcot. ‘‘Last time I saw you, you hadn’t a kipper’s chance in a cat’s home! How did you do it, man? ”’ But there are times when Charles Edward can be no more communicative than the average oyster. HAT night I was dining alone in a little restaurant I knew in Amiens ; there were times when I liked to creep away by myself and forget all about the war and life in the squadron and noisy people generally. It was while I was sipping my Nuits St. Georges, engrossed in that most peaceful of books, ‘‘ The Compleat Angler,’’ that I felt a sharp rap on the head and looked up to find that a grinning idiot had smitten me with a yard of French bread. It was Teddy McFane of the Camel Squadron on our aerodrome. It might have been worse ; Teddy is a rowdy fellow certainly, but usually all right if you get him alone. ‘« Sit down, Teddy,’’ I groaned, shut- ting up the immortal Izaac. ‘‘ Yes, have your food brought over here if you must.’’ We talked for an hour or more, chiefly about mutual acquaintances, and knowing that Teddy had passed through the Com- bat School at Flodden, I naturally asked if he had known the Hon. Charles Edward. ‘* Westringham ? Westringham ? Dark, slightly built young chappie, al- ways thinking up brainy ideas, wasn’t he? Yes, I know him. ’Course I do. He’s the fellow they made an N.C.O. He got the dirtiest deal a cadet school ever dished out to anybody.”’’ ‘* Oh,’’ said I, without too much show of interest. ‘‘ How was that P ’’ and got the whole story out of him by degrees. ‘*It was a frame-up, a dirty frame- up,’’ Teddy averred, signing to the patron for another bottle of burgundy. ‘‘ This rotten bounder of an under-officer—er— Mulford, his name was—should have reported the whole gang of them if he reported any. He just picked on West- ringham because he had a grudge against him.”’ ‘*D’you know why he had a grudge against him ? ”’ Teddy held his first glass from the new bottle up to the light. ‘‘I can tell you that too, though it’s a long story that begins before the war. I had it straight from a chappie who comes from West- ringham’s part of the world. Do you want ite? ”’ ‘* Fire away.’’ ‘“ Well, once upon a time a grand old landowner was driving through his home- town in his whopping big Rolls-Royce. It was the Earl of Something and Something- Else to be precise.’’ ‘* That’s not very precise. and Frore, I expect you mean.’’ ; ‘*SoIdo. Well, this old bloke was just driving through some of the back streets that were his property, smoking his cigar and thinking how nice of him it was to install bathrooms and h. & c. in all the houses, when a door opens and out pops an old lady waving a rolling-pin and shouting, ‘ Mingy old skinflint ! ’ ‘* Well, the old boy doesn’t like his tenants calling him a ‘mingy old skin- flint’ just when he’s paid out a large cheque to have that h. & c. installed. So he ups and outs of his fine motor and asks her, ‘ Whad’you-mean P ’ ‘* She shows him her rent-book. The Marsden 298 LA@QO SJ (Cl Q)