“Bless my soul!” exclaimed Colonel Marker.  “You talk as if you knew all about the different machines.  You have never worked around them, have you?”

“Those of us that happen to be off duty at headquarters generally spend our spare time around the machines, and, of course, we hear the talk that goes on.  I am sorry if I have said what I shouldn’t, sir.”

“Tut, tut!” from the colonel.  “You have said nothing wrong.  You may be quite right.  I have known of machines that had bad habits, plenty of them.  But if they let that lad take his solo in the machine it must be all right.”

Ten minutes later Colonel Marker was at the back of a hangar inspecting a newly arrived scout machine of a much—–­discussed type when he heard a shout from outside.  A moment later a soldier came into the hangar and reported a bad smash.  The colonel walked to the door.  There across the meadow, was a wrecked airplane.  Men were picking up the still form of the pilot beside it.  Parks, seeing the colonel, pulled up in his runabout to take the colonel with him to the wreck.

“Looks bad, sir,” said Parks.  “They had orders not to let novices go up in that machine.  I hope the boy is not badly hurt.”

“Was it the ‘bad bus’ that smashed?” asked the colonel.

“Yes, sir.  That is what some of the boys called her.  She is not a really bad machine, but plays tricks.”

“Did you see what she did this time?”

“Yes, sir.  I was looking at her from the end hangar.  I was some distance away, but I happened to have my eye on her as she crocked.”

“Did she side-slip?”

“That is just what she did do.”  Parks glanced at Colonel Marker inquisitively.  What was the colonel driving at?

“The reason I asked,” said the colonel, “was on account of something one of those Brighton boys remarked to me not more than ten minutes before the smash.  He said the ’bad bus’—–­as he called it—–­side-slipped at times unexpectedly.  Those youngsters do pick things up, don’t they?”

Just then they reached the scene of the accident, and both of them forgot the Brighton boys for the moment.

The machine was smashed badly and the young pilot had received a broken leg in addition to a nasty shaking.

“I think I will let that plane go,” said Parks as he and the colonel drove toward the hangars.  “I will just pile up the old thing and let her sit in a corner until I need her worse than I do now.  She has played her last trick for a while.  You were speaking of those Brighton boys, sir.  What are you planning to do with them?”

“Make flyers of them some day.”

“I have three of them in the hangars now.  You have one at headquarters named Corwin that knows a bit for a lad.  Why not let me have him?”

“The four I have at the offices are really valuable, but I suppose if they are to learn flying they had better be with you.  Can you find something to do for the lot?”