Thompson received his preliminary training in a camp not greatly distant
from his birthplace and the suburban Toronto home where the spinster
aunts still lived. He did not go to see them at first, for two reasons.
Primarily, because he had written them a full and frank account of
himself when he got out of the ruck and achieved success in San
Francisco. Their reply had breathed an open disappointment, almost
hostility, at his departure from the chosen path. They made it clear
that in their eyes he was a prodigal son for whom there would never be
any fatted calf. Secondly, he did not go because there was seldom
anything but short leave for a promising aviator.
Thompson speedily proved himself to belong in that category. There
resided in him those peculiar, indefinable qualities imperative for
mastery of the air. Under able instruction he got on fast, just as he
had got on fast in the Henderson shops. And by the time the first fall
snows whitened the ground, he was ready for England and the finishing
stages of aërial work antecedent to piloting a fighting plane. He had
practically won his official wings.
With his orders to report overseas he received ten days' final leave.
And a sense of duty spurred him to look up the maiden aunts, to brave
their displeasure for the sake of knowing how they fared. There was
little other use to make of his time. The Pacific Coast was too far
away. The only person he cared to see there had no wish to see him, he
was bitterly aware. And nearer at hand circumstances had shot him clear
out of the orbit of all those he had known as he grew to manhood.
Recalling them, he had no more in common with them now than any
forthright man of action has in common with narrow visionaries. It was
not their fault, he knew. They were creatures of their environment, just
as he had been. But he had outgrown all faith in creeds and forms before
a quickening sympathy with man, a clearer understanding of human
complexities. And as he recalled them his associates had been slaves to
creed and form, worshippers of the letter of Christianity while
unconsciously they violated the spirit of Christ. Thompson had no wish
to renew those old friendships, not even any curiosity about them. So he
passed them by and went to see his aunts, who had fed and clothed him,
to whom he felt a vague sort of allegiance if no particular affection.
It seemed to Thompson like reliving a very vivid sort of dream to get
off a street car at a certain corner, to walk four blocks south and turn
into the yard before a small brick cottage with a leafless birch rising
out of the tiny grass plot and the bleached vines of sweet peas draping
the fence palings.