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Authors: William Horwood, Patrick Benson
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Toad had broken every flying record he could think of for height, speed, distance,
endurance, and— “— and therefore, sir, Mr Toad, Lordship, it would be better if
I showed you how to fly it properly before you attempt to do so yourself.”
“Tell me’ said Toad, in a quiet and
conciliatory way, “would anyone on the ground know it was you who were
flying the machine? Or might they possibly, seeing me in it, think it was me?”
“They might very well think it was you,” said
the pilot judiciously, “especially if you were wearing the proper gear and
looked the part and were, so to speak, prominent.”
“Prominent’ repeated Toad, puffing himself up
once more and strutting alongside the machine.
“If you were to sit on a cushion or two,
perhaps,” said the pilot, “and raise yourself up a bit, and I was to keep my
head down as low as possible.”
“You low and me high,” said Toad eagerly “You
unnoticed and unseen, but I plainly visible, and wearing the correct apparel so
that I look the part?”
“Exactly, Your Lordship,” sighed the pilot.
“You would need headgear, and goggles, and a sheepskin jacket, and flying boots
and so on.”
“Would this take long to get?” asked Toad.
“Getting it is not the thing,” said the
pilot-mechanic, “but paying for it is. Such apparel is expensive, though if you
are to look the part, and a gentleman like you would
only want the best, then —”
“The expense is immaterial!” cried Toad
impulsively.
“I’ll have two of everything —”
“Well, it just so happens, Lord and Honour,
that I have some gear with me that might just be your size’ said the
pilot-mechanic, who had long since intended to sell Toad these expensive
extras. “And a parachute as well —” he added.
At this, some instinct for survival sent a
warning pulse through Toad’s heart and made him say, “But I won’t need a
parachute, will I? I mean, ever? I have told you before — they worry me.
“Of course you’ll never need one,” said
the pilot reassuringly, fearful that his patter had gone a little too far, “but
with a parachute on your front —”
“My front?” queried Toad, thinking of his
appearance.
“More effective when — or rather if it was ever
to be used, which it won’t be. The fact is, Honourable Lord, that if you wish
to look the part, and have people say, ‘Now there’s a pilot who really knows
what he’s doing!’ —”
“O I do wish, I do wish!”
“— then you would be
wise to wear one.
“You are a most sensible person,” said Toad,
“to see how things ought to be done. I will commend you when the time comes,
you may be sure of that, just so long as whilst I am still learning you keep
your head very low, and ensure that I am placed very high.”
Placated, persuaded and pleased, Toad was now
willing to be taken up as a pupil once more, but the pilot, having already
given him some stationary lessons on the ground, made sure that Toad was still
allowed nowhere near the real controls and was confined solely to those in the
passenger seat — the now greatly raised and be-cushioned passenger seat — which
did not function unless the pilot wished it.
The fact that taking off in snow might be a
problem had not worried Toad one bit. Winter, after all, had given him the
protection he needed from the prying eyes of those who might seek to spoil his
fun. So when the pilot finally conceded that Toad might be ready for his first
flight with the new machine and there was still snow on the ground, the
fledgling aeronaut cried out, “Clear it, whatever it costs!”
So they had, dozens of them, teams of them,
cleared the lawn right down to the river bank. This had proved no easy task,
but Toad was not daunted by such trifles. He had the money to order about who
he liked, and even if it took a whole day — it took three in the end —to get
the runway open and his bright red Blériot started,
he would see it was done.
The snow
Toad had broken every flying record he could think of for height, speed, distance,
endurance, and— “— and therefore, sir, Mr Toad, Lordship, it would be better if
I showed you how to fly it properly before you attempt to do so yourself.”
“Tell me’ said Toad, in a quiet and
conciliatory way, “would anyone on the ground know it was you who were
flying the machine? Or might they possibly, seeing me in it, think it was me?”
“They might very well think it was you,” said
the pilot judiciously, “especially if you were wearing the proper gear and
looked the part and were, so to speak, prominent.”
“Prominent’ repeated Toad, puffing himself up
once more and strutting alongside the machine.
“If you were to sit on a cushion or two,
perhaps,” said the pilot, “and raise yourself up a bit, and I was to keep my
head down as low as possible.”
“You low and me high,” said Toad eagerly “You
unnoticed and unseen, but I plainly visible, and wearing the correct apparel so
that I look the part?”
“Exactly, Your Lordship,” sighed the pilot.
“You would need headgear, and goggles, and a sheepskin jacket, and flying boots
and so on.”
“Would this take long to get?” asked Toad.
“Getting it is not the thing,” said the
pilot-mechanic, “but paying for it is. Such apparel is expensive, though if you
are to look the part, and a gentleman like you would
only want the best, then —”
“The expense is immaterial!” cried Toad
impulsively.
“I’ll have two of everything —”
“Well, it just so happens, Lord and Honour,
that I have some gear with me that might just be your size’ said the
pilot-mechanic, who had long since intended to sell Toad these expensive
extras. “And a parachute as well —” he added.
At this, some instinct for survival sent a
warning pulse through Toad’s heart and made him say, “But I won’t need a
parachute, will I? I mean, ever? I have told you before — they worry me.
“Of course you’ll never need one,” said
the pilot reassuringly, fearful that his patter had gone a little too far, “but
with a parachute on your front —”
“My front?” queried Toad, thinking of his
appearance.
“More effective when — or rather if it was ever
to be used, which it won’t be. The fact is, Honourable Lord, that if you wish
to look the part, and have people say, ‘Now there’s a pilot who really knows
what he’s doing!’ —”
“O I do wish, I do wish!”
“— then you would be
wise to wear one.
“You are a most sensible person,” said Toad,
“to see how things ought to be done. I will commend you when the time comes,
you may be sure of that, just so long as whilst I am still learning you keep
your head very low, and ensure that I am placed very high.”
Placated, persuaded and pleased, Toad was now
willing to be taken up as a pupil once more, but the pilot, having already
given him some stationary lessons on the ground, made sure that Toad was still
allowed nowhere near the real controls and was confined solely to those in the
passenger seat — the now greatly raised and be-cushioned passenger seat — which
did not function unless the pilot wished it.
The fact that taking off in snow might be a
problem had not worried Toad one bit. Winter, after all, had given him the
protection he needed from the prying eyes of those who might seek to spoil his
fun. So when the pilot finally conceded that Toad might be ready for his first
flight with the new machine and there was still snow on the ground, the
fledgling aeronaut cried out, “Clear it, whatever it costs!”
So they had, dozens of them, teams of them,
cleared the lawn right down to the river bank. This had proved no easy task,
but Toad was not daunted by such trifles. He had the money to order about who
he liked, and even if it took a whole day — it took three in the end —to get
the runway open and his bright red Blériot started,
he would see it was done.
The snow
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