A YOUNG WOMAN with a reddish face and horn-rimmed glasses appeared suddenly out of a door marked &quot;Manager, Baston Aero Club&quot;.<br />&quot;Well, young man, what do you want?&quot; she asked sharply.<br />The middle-aged man in grey flannels who was standing in the club hall looked round to see who was being spoken to, and then perceptibly started when he realized that it was he who was being addressed.<br />&quot;Are you the manager of the Baston Aero Club?&quot; he asked.<br />&quot;Manager and secretary. In fact, I run the place,&quot; she answered.<br />&quot;I see.&quot; The speaker, though obviously not shy, had not quite recovered from the surprise of being addressed as &quot;young man&quot; by a woman some years his junior.<br />&quot;The fact is, I want to learn to fly. That is,&quot; he added diffidently, &quot;if I am not too old for that sort of thing.&quot; His diffidence contrasted with a certain deep richness of voice&mdash; the kind of voice which inevitably suggests public speaking.<br />The young woman beamed. &quot;Don&#39;t you worry! We&#39;ll teach you if it kills us&mdash; or you.&quot; She rummaged over a table in the hall which was littered with papers and picked out a form.