far from the actual scene of war. Some people who are a lot older
and who should have a lot more realization of what we need and must
have before this war is over might take a good lesson from such
youngsters. I would like to see them."

That settled it. When the colonel took a thing up he adopted it
absolutely. In a day or so he would be talking of the little band
of Brighton boys as if the original project had been his from the
very start. "Boy aviation corps? Why not. Good for them. Can find
them plenty to do. When they get to the right size we can put 'em
in the service. Why not? Good to start young. Of course it is.
Splendid idea. Must be good stuff in 'em. Of course there is.
Send 'em to me. Why not?"

Thus, before the boys were brought under the colonel's eye he had
really talked himself into an acceptance of the major's idea. The
morning he saw them, a little group of very eager and anxious
faces---bright, intelligent, fine faces they were, too---he said
without delay: "I have a use for you boys. I have thought of
something for you to do. Get some sort of rig so I can tell you when
I see you, and come to me again and I will set you at work."

Not long after, vacation time had come, and with it the new uniforms,
in neat, unpretentious khaki. Garbed in their new feathers and
"all their war paint," as Mr. Mann called it, they reported at the
airdrome main gate just as the first big wooden crate came past on
a giant truck. Inside that case, every boy of them knew, was
the first flying machine to reach the new grounds. They felt it
an omen.