“They TORK,” said Bert.     

       “They talk—and they do,” said the soldier.     

       “The thing's coming—”      

       “It keeps ON coming,” said Bert; “I shall believe when I see it.”      

       “That won't be long,” said the soldier.     

       The conversation seemed degenerating into an amiable wrangle of contradiction.     

       “I tell you they ARE flying,” the soldier insisted. “I see it myself.”      

       “We've all seen it,” said Bert.     

       “I don't mean flap up and smash up; I mean real, safe, steady, controlled flying, against the wind, good and right.”      

       “You ain't seen that!”      

       “I 'AVE! Aldershot. They try to keep it a secret. They got it right enough. You bet—our War Office isn't going to be caught napping this time.”      

       Bert's incredulity was shaken. He asked questions—and the soldier expanded.     

       “I tell you they got nearly a square mile fenced in—a sort of valley. Fences of barbed wire ten feet high, and inside that they do things. Chaps about the camp—now and then we get a peep. It isn't only us neither. There's the Japanese; you bet they got it too—and the Germans!”      

       The soldier stood with his legs very wide apart, and filled his pipe thoughtfully. Bert sat on the low wall against which his motor-bicycle was leaning.     

       “Funny thing fighting'll be,” he said.     

       “Flying's going to break out,” said the soldier. “When it DOES come, when the curtain does go up, I tell you you'll find every one on the stage—busy.... Such fighting, too!... I suppose you don't read the papers about this sort of thing?”      

       “I read 'em a bit,” said Bert.     

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