The Brighton boys found, as time went on, that they had, quite frequently, some spare hours in which they could do as they wished.  Soon after their arrival in France they had envied Bob Haines his knowledge of the French language, which, while rudimentary, was sufficient to enable him to make himself understood at times when the boys were quite at sea as to what he was trying to say to the French people to whom he was talking.

No sooner had the boys noticed that Bob had a decided advantage over the rest of them on this score, than they set about to catch up with him.  But Bob was equally set on keeping the lead he had gained.  Joe Little and Dicky Mann were his only real rivals in this field.  Dicky had one assistant that was of the greatest use to him in the frequent companionship of Dubois, the French officer attached to headquarters.  While Dicky’s French was often ungrammatical, his pronunciation was good, much better, in fact, than either Joe’s or Bob’s.

One day Dicky was sent as an observer with Richardson, the little major who usually accompanied that clever pilot being away on temporary leave.  Dicky pleased headquarters so much with his initial report that more and more observation work was given him.  Thus he gained valuable experience which bade fair to ensure that he would be kept at observing most of the time.

The boy was inclined at first to regret this, for the obvious reason that those who did the flying work were much more “in the picture,” as Dicky put it, but the real fascination of the observation work soon weaned him from any genuine desire to give it up.  To his great delight he was at last put on the observation staff permanently, or at least was given regular work with that department—–­and who should be assigned to pilot him but Bob Haines!  To be with Bob, of whom Dicky was especially fond, was a genuine pleasure to him, and the combination proved a very good one from every standpoint.  Bob’s passion for photographic work and Dicky’s absorbing interest in mapping operations resulted in their approaching their joint work in a spirit of splendid enthusiasm for it, which could not but produce good results.

Aeroplane work in war-time, however, has its “ups and downs,” as Jimmy Hill would say in his weekly letters home.  He rarely missed a fortnight that this sage observation did not appear in some part of his four-page epistle.  Jimmy stuck religiously to four pages, though he knew enough of censorship rules to avoid mention of his work, except in vague generalities.  This necessity made writing four pages dull work at times, and resulted in Jimmy’s adoption of various set phrases as filling matter.  His mother, who knew Jimmy as only mothers know their sons, read into the often repeated sentences Jimmy’s ardent desire to show himself a ready and willing correspondent, when he was nothing of the kind.  She loved those letters none the less for their sameness, thereby showing her mother-wisdom.