"Bully! We're all one over here. That's the way to talk!" Erwin was
getting back his old-time spirits. "All one in the good old U.S. All
one over here -- eh? Oh, you sinner!" The two walked over to a table,
interrupted at every turn by those who wanted to welcome Orry back to
the club again.

The following morning Erwin resumed his daily stunt of practice, but
was heightened mightily in spirit by noticing in the hangar where he
had usually gotten his machines a bright new scouting plane, small,
with a tail like a dolphin's, an up-to-date machine gun mounted along
the top, just where the one pilot at the wheel could handily squint
through the sights.

"Why, it's British -- one of their latest makes," informed Erwin, much
pleased. "It's -- let's see." He was squinting at the monogram.
"B-X-3. No. 48."

Just then Blaine and Finzer strolled up.

"Going out for a little spin, Orry?" queried Blaine, throwing open
wider the hangar door. "Look at 'em! Ain't they beauts?"

There was a row of eight of these snug-built machines, all the same
type and monogram, all with machine guns strapped solidly to the
fuselage of each, and with motors of great power and pliability.

"You can do anything with these chaps," remarked Milt, "except fly to
the moon. But these motors would take you a long way. As for stunts
like diving, circling, dipping, playing dead and the like, you never
saw the like. I only hope we go out soon. I learn there's a new raid