"I'll write to my brother Bill and get him to fire something over to
us from France," said Harry Corwin. "There is no telling but what he
can put us on to some wrinkles that the people who write things for
the papers would never hear about."

"My aunt just wrote me a letter asking me what sort of a book I wanted
for my birthday," put in Fat Benson. "I will write to-day and tell her
I want a book that will teach me to fly."

This raised a storm of laughter, for Henry Benson's stout figure bid
fair to develop still further along lines of considerable girth, and
the very thought of Fat flying was highly humorous to his mates.

The little group broke up hurriedly as Bob looked at his watch and saw
how time was slipping away.

"Back to the grind, fellows!" he cried. "We'll have another talk-fest
later on."

That random conversation was one day to bear splendid fruit. The seeds
had been sown which were to blossom into the keenest interest in the
real, serious work of the mastery of the air. Live, sterling young
fellows were in the Brighton Academy. Some of them had declared
allegiance to the army, some to the navy, but now here was a stouthearted
bunch of boys that had decided they would give themselves to the study
of aeronautics, and lose no time about it.

The seven spent a thoughtful afternoon. It was hard indeed for any
one of them to focus attention on his lessons. The newness of the
idea had to wear off first. After class hours they met again and