Again he craned and listened, and this time he saw it, flying low so that the landing gear showed plainly and he could even see Bland in the rear seat.

He knew him by the drooping shoulders, the set of his head, by that indefinable something which identifies a man to his acquaintances at a distance.

In the front seat was a stranger.
He could see the swirl of the propeller, like fine, circular lines drawn in the air.

The exhaust trailed a ribbon of bluish white behind the tail.

And that indescribable thrumming vibrated through the air and tore the very soul of him with yearning.
There it went, his airplane, that he loved more than he had ever loved anything in his life.