turned on the light. They were astonished to see that he wore the uniform of the Royal Flying Corps and carried a cane. He seemed very young, but the three who peeped out at him felt that he must be a person of consequence. He took off his coat with the spread wings on the collar, wound his watch, and brushed his teeth with an air of special personal importance. Soon after he had turned out the light and climbed into the berth over Lieutenant Bird, a heavy smell of rum spread in the close air.
Fanning, who slept under Claude, kicked the sagging mattress above him and stuck his head out. “Hullo, Wheeler! What have you got up there?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing smells pretty good to me. I’ll have some with anybody that asks me.”
No response from any quarter. Bird, the Virginian, murmured, “Don’t make a row,” and they went to sleep. In the morning, when the bath steward came, he edged his way into the narrow cabin and poked his head into the berth over Bird’s. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve made careful search for your luggage, and it’s not to be found, sir.”
“I tell you it must be found,” fumed a petulant voice overhead. “I brought it over from the St. Regis myself in a taxi. I saw it standing on the pier with the officers’ luggage,—a black cabin trunk with V. M. lettered on both ends. Get after it.”
The steward smiled discreetly. He probably knew that the aviator had come on board in a state which precluded any very accurate observation on his part. “Very well, sir. Is there anything I can get you for the present?”
“You can take this shirt out and have it laundered and
