“Sounds pretty good,” admitted Bruce.  “But nobody would ever attempt it.”

“Of course not,” retorted Barney.  “It’s too simple.”

The two following days the boys found themselves taking morning and evening walks down the track to the airplane, which still lay piled in sections by the track.  They were surprised to see that no effort was being made to assemble it.  The reason for the delay was made clear to them by an unexpected encounter on the evening of the second day.

Finding the Major pacing up and down before the machine, his slight limp aggravated by his very evident irritation, they were about to pass as if they didn’t know there was a plane within a hundred miles, when they were halted by the upraised hand of the Major.

Immediately both boys clicked heels and saluted.  Then they felt foolish for saluting in “civies.”

“I see you are military all right,” smiled the Major.  “But how much do you really know about airplanes?”

“Oh,” said Barney, with exaggerated indifference, “Bruce, here, knows a little and I know a little, too.  Between us we might be able to assemble your machine, if that’s what you want.”  In spite of his heroic attempts at self-control, his voice betrayed his eagerness.  Truth was, his fingers itched for pliers and wrenches.

“That’s part of what I want, but not all,” the Major said briskly.  “I am not an aviator myself, and my man has failed me at the last moment; had a trifling smash which resulted in a dislocated thigh.  Out of service for the season.  I need an aviator and a good one.  He says there’s only one other not attached to military units that he could recommend—­a Canadian.  But the plague of it is, the man can’t be located.”

“Might I ask the nature of your proposed trip?” asked Bruce—­then bit his lip a second too late.

“You might not” The Major snapped out the words.  Then in a kindlier tone, “My secret is not entirely my own.  I can say, however, that it is not an exceedingly long trip, nor a dangerous one, as aviation goes, but it is an important one, and besides, if it comes out well, and I believe it will, I might wish to go on a more hazardous journey.  In that case, of course, you can see I should wish a veteran pilot at the wheel and one who will take a chance.”

He turned to Bruce.  “You are a Canadian, are you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then perhaps you can tell me of the whereabouts of this young Canadian aviator.  His name is—­” the Major stopped to think.  “His name is—­ah!  I have it!  It’s Manning—­Bruce Manning.”

Bruce’s jaw dropped in astonishment.  He was too surprised to speak.  It was Barney who, almost shouting in his excitement, said: 

“He’s Bruce Manning, Major.”

“What?” The Major stood back and looked at Bruce.  “You?  Oh come; you are hardly more than a boy!”

“Yes,” said Barney, “he’s hardly more than a boy, but some of the best flyers the Allies had were hardly more than boys.  They were boys when they went into it over there, but the boys who went up after the Germans two or three times came down men, Major.  Don’t forget that.”