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The air's a big lottery, and Archie turned a dirty face skyward where two of our planes were moving very high towards the east. The mention of Lensch brought Peter to mind, and I asked if he had gone back. 'He won't go, said Archie, 'and we haven't the heart to make him. He's very happy, and plays about with the Gladas single-seater.
We made Micklegill, but only by the skin of our teeth. We were so low that the smoky chimneys of the city of Bradfield seven miles to the east were half hidden by a ridge of down. Archie achieved a clever descent in the lee of a belt of firs, and got out full of imprecations against the Gladas engine.
Whenever things get really excitin', the engine's apt to quit work and take a rest. 'The whole make should be publicly burned, I said, with gloomy recollections. 'I wouldn't go so far, sir. The old Gladas has surprisin' merits. On her day there's nothing like her for pace and climbing-power, and she steers as sweet as a racin' cutter. The trouble about her is she's too complicated.
All the same, if I were in for a big fight against some fellow like Lensch, where it was neck or nothing, I'm hanged if I wouldn't pick the Gladas. Archie laughed apologetically. 'The subject is banned for me in our mess. I'm the old thing's only champion, and she's like a mare I used to hunt that loved me so much she was always tryin' to chew the arm off me.
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