Jimmy Hill—–­who was fortunate in that his home was within walking distance of the Academy—–­commenced his breakfast in silence.  Mr. Hill read his paper and Mrs. Hill read her letters as they proceeded leisurely with the morning meal.  The porridge and cream and then two eggs and a good-sized piece of ham disappeared before Jimmy’s appetite was appeased, for he was a growing boy, who played hard when he was not hard at some task.  Jimmy was not large for his age, and his rather slight figure disguised a wiriness that an antagonist of his size would have found extraordinary.  His hair was red and his face showed a mass of freckles winter and summer.  Jimmy was a bright, quick boy, always well up in his studies and popular with his teachers.  At home Jimmy’s parents thought him quite a normal boy, with an unusually large fund of questions ever at the back of his nimble tongue.

Breakfast went slowly for Jimmy that morning when once he had finished and sat waiting for his parents.  Mr. Hill was scanning the back page of the paper in deep concentration.  Again the big black letters stared out at Jimmy.  “The war will be won in the air.”  Jimmy knew well enough what that meant, or at least he had a very fair idea of its meaning.  But he had sat still and quiet for a long time, it seemed to him.  Finally his patience snapped.

“Father,” he queried, “how will the war be won in the air?”

“It won’t,” was his father’s abrupt reply.  Silence again reigned, and Mrs. Hill glanced at her boy and smiled.  Encouraged, Jimmy returned to the charge.

“Then why does the paper say it will?”

“For want of something else to say,” replied Mr. Hill.  “The airships and flying machines will play their part, of course, and it will be a big part, too.  The real winning of the war must be done on the ground, however, after all.  One thing this war has shown very clearly.  No one arm is all-powerful or all necessary in itself alone.  Every branch of the service of war must co-operate with another, if not with all the others.  It is a regular business, this war game.  I have read enough to see that.  It is team-work that counts most in the big movements, and I expect that it is team-work that counts most all the way through, in the detailed work as well.”

Team-work!  That had a familiar ring to Jimmy.  Team-work was what the football coach had forever pumped into his young pupils.  Team-work!  Yes, Jimmy knew what that meant.

“I can give you a bit of news, Jimmy,” added Mr. Hill.  “If you are so interested in the war in the air you will be glad to hear that the old Frisbie place a few miles out west of the town is to be turned into an airdrome—–­a place where the flying men are to be taught to fly.  I expect before the war is over we will be so accustomed to seeing aircraft above us that we will not take the trouble to look upward to see one when it passes.”

Jimmy’s heart gave a great leap, and then seemed to stand still.  Only once, at the State Fair, had he seen a man fly.  It had so touched his imagination that the boy had scoured the papers and books in the public library ever since for something fresh to read on the subject of aviation.  As a result Jimmy had quite a workable knowledge of what an aeroplane really was and the sort of work the flying men were called upon to do at the front.