Stephen Morris Read Free Page B

home; then if we want him we can telephone for him, or he can go to Seaview or somewhere for the afternoon. And I say, why not put out a placard like we do for Bournemouth?’
    ‘What’s that?’ asked Morris.
    ‘Offer the seats in the machines going and coming back at rather reduced rates,’ said Riley. ‘We often manage to make the cost of sending the machine there and a bit over.’ He picked up the letter and read it again. ‘I think that’s best,’ he said, and began to type rapidly.
    He looked up again presently. ‘Air Ministry want to know why we haven’t reported those centre section modifications yet. All the machines have got ’em, haven’t they? The front spar fittings, they were - three laminations instead of two to the wiring plate.’
    ‘Mine has,’ said Stenning.
    There seemed to be nothing for Morris to do; he got up and went to the door of the hut. It was quite dark, and a fine, starry night. It was attractive outside; he put his head back inside the hut.
    ‘Be back in half an hour or so,’ he said, and vanished into the darkness.
    Stenning took his pipe from his mouth.
    ‘Where’s he going?’ he inquired, surprised.
    ‘Dunno. He’s a queer bird.’
    ‘Well, that’s a funny thing, going off like that. It’s all dark out there. Anyone would think he had a date.’
    Riley smiled. ‘He’s all right - he’s like that. I remember him in the Squadron. What d’you think of him?’
    ‘He’s all right,’ said Stenning, ‘if he can fly. I like him; we might have done a lot worse.’
    ‘Oh, he can fly all right,’ said Riley, and bent to his work.
    Outside it was cool and fine. A fresh night breeze was blowing down Channel, bringing a tang of salt water with it. It had gone round a bit, Morris thought, and was now easterly, which should be a good sign for this part of the world. He glanced up and tried to see the ‘stocking’ but it was hidden in the darkness.
    He strolled along aimlessly and happily through the derelict air station, along the broad dark roads past towering deserted buildings. Presently he came out on the aerodrome by their own hangar. In there were the machines, his machine. He was back again, back in his own trade, the only thing he could do well.
    He paced the roads, speculating, as he walked, upon the future. Aviation was going to be a big thing. It was in a bad way now, and might sink even lower. But one day aviation would be a big business again, a bigger affair than the sideshow at a local fair and horse show. Already the air lines were in being, already there were rumours of commercial aeroplanes in the true sense; machines properly designed for the business, with proper cabins and lavatories, just as in a train or any other transport concern. Surely this aviation would be a great thing, would take the place in the world to which it was entitled, and that before so very long.
    And he was in it, back in it again, back in this business that he knew. Presently it would develop; he would be there to do his bit in the development of this new industry. More air lines would spring up, more manufacturing companies; he was in it now, in it at the start, when things were bad. There would be big fortunes tobe made by men who pinned their faith to it now; one day he might be a rich man. Money meant such a lot - one could do nothing without money. This work that he loved might bring him back in time to that other love that he had lost.

    Morris was up early next morning; the sunlight, streaming in on to his bed, coupled with the novelty of his surroundings, made sleep difficult. He got up and went to the door of the hut and stood in the sun, looking out over the Solent towards the twin chequered forts of Spithead and the mist over Portsmouth. It was a brilliant summer morning, with a sort of crisp freshness in the air that was never felt at Oxford. He shivered a little, turned back into the hut, and set to work to start up the Primus to boil some water for a