"A good deal. You couldn't play the violin because you are not musical, and only a musical person can learn to play it well. In some respects, mastery of the violin and mastery of flying, have a common bond. With both the one fundamental requirement is natural or instinctive aptitude. Flying is an art, and without natural ability it is useless to attempt it. And if it isn't inherent, Mr. Dixon, it just can't be acquired. Moreover, the only way to find out if that aptitude exists, is by trial. If Dorothy had the natural ability for the violin that she has for flying, practice and experience would make her a second Kreisler!"
A smile crept along the corners of Mr. Dixon's mouth. "Ah, but Kreisler is a man!"
"I know, sir, but honestly, sex has nothing to do with it."
"So you think she should keep on with her flight training?"
"I know she should, Mr. Dixon, if you want her to fly at all. She has all the qualifications that go toward making a really good air pilot."
"Well, I'm glad to hear you say it, and glad you're so enthusiastic."
"Of course I am," declared Bill. "She's fearless and alert and she loves the work--she'll do well."
And so Dorothy continued her flight training.
She came down one afternoon from a solo flight and Bill, who had been watching her maneuvers from the shade of the hangar, walked over as the plane rolled to a stop.
"Not so good--" she called out as she sprang to the ground. "I nearly overshot my landing."