Air Stories, November 1937 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

AIR STORIES otherwise, for his first name was Cuthbert, and he sometimes squirmed with horror at the thought of what the Royal Flying Corps would have done about it, had he ever been fool enough to let his dear comrades see his personal papers. Major Nobby Clarke’s despairing ex- pression was due to quite another reason, one which had to do with a two- seater Bristol Fighter, now standing in the hangar—a Bristol Fighter on the fuselage of which was painted a sanitary- dustbin equipped with wings. It cannot be said with any certainty whether a certain, talented lady-journa- list had committed suicide, up to that moment. But the history of the ‘‘ Very Famous Squadron ’’ was closely con- nected with that nameless lady, who had met some of its members when they were on leave in London. In a newspaper- article, next morning, she wrote lyrically of those young warriors who had made their squadron the most famous in France, by ‘‘ flirting with death in the far-flung battlegrounds of the sky .. .”’’ etc., etc. With the bit fairly between her teeth, so to speak, the good lady fairly bolted through four columns of print, and finished by calling for ‘‘ national homage to these Strong Silent Men who are so Full of Grit.’’ Which was why the squadron was immediately re-christened the ‘‘ Deaf- and-Dumb Dustmen ’’ by the rest of a delighted Flying Corps, whose apprecia- tion of literary art was only exceeded by its chivalrous desire to please a lady. Not to be outdone by such matters of etiquette, the chuckling squadron grace- fully accepted their new title, and, from then on, each of the ‘‘ Dustmen’s ’’ machines carried that whimsical badge. Such is the power of the pen. AJOR NOBBY CLARKE, chief of the Dustmen, drew a deep breath and prepared to warm-up a machine- gun-like vocabulary, at the sight that met his eye. The sight was that of a flat tyre adorning one wheel of the Bristol’s undercarriage. At the end of the first minute of the Major’s perform- ance, a shaken-looking rigger-sergeant and half-a-dozen of his henchmen came ~ running up, to stand rigid, waiting for the storm to abate. ‘* And in case I didn’t make myself clear,’’ stuttered the Major, after a brief pause for breath, ‘‘I’ll put it in simple, ordinary words, so that you can under- stand. I ordered my machine to be ready at twelve o’clock, so that I could go and meet the morning patrol on its way home. It is now 12.10. Is my machine ready—or IS that a flaming, blistered, fairies — at — the — bottom —of — my— garden, flat-tyre? Correct me if I’m wrong.’’ ‘* Yessir,’’ gulped the sergeant, ‘‘ but > ] ‘‘Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking,’’ went on Nobby, speaking with sinister softness, ‘‘I feel I cannot let this moment pass without clearing-up one point on which you gentlemen and I seem to be at cross-purposes. Gradually, and in some unaccountable way, the idea had grown upon me that when I gave an order, it would be obeyed. The outcome of war-strain, no doubt. But the point is that I have that idea, and I’m willing to back it up by having any number of thick-headed, insubordinate mechanics and N.C.O.’s shot at dawn, if in future os Misteredison, ‘“ It’s sir !’’ almost howled the rigger-sergeant. Nobby pulled up in full flow and looked slightly worried. 7 ‘‘ Yessir,’? went on the sergeant, swiftly taking advantage of the lull. ‘“‘It’s Misteredison, sir. I mean Mr. Edwards. He’s got a new idea, sir. Something to do with tyres. Five minutes ago he come and let that tyre down on your machine. I told him that you’d ordered it to be ready, sir, but he said he would have it all right, sir, by the time you come. Mr. Edison’s a lootenant, sir, and it’s more’n I can do to disobey an orficer, or ’inder——-’’ A shadow fell across the hangar- opening, and Nobby ‘Clarke, whose ex- pression was now distinctly dangerous, whirled round. The owner of the shadow walked in and smiled up at him cheer- fully. He was a lieutenant of middle- 384 CoOmicloo (C©