"I don't," declared Bill, "only they always give people the impression that I am afraid. And I am not."
"Of course you are not!" exclaimed Ernest. "That bores me awf'ly! Let's get my little boat out. You don't mind skating around the field, do you?"
"Tickled to death!" said Bill eagerly, and hastened into a place in the trim, beautiful little plane.
The moment they were set in motion he saw that the plane was a wonder. It answered to the slightest touch of the wheel or levers and rode the humps on the field with a motion that told Bill, experienced as he was in that part of the sport, that it was made of the finest possible materials.
His admiration finally burst into speech.
"What a beauty this is!" he roared over the blast of the throbbing engine.
The young pilot turned a lever, and the racket subsided into a soft, steady humming.
Bill repeated his remark. Ernest stopped the plane and, getting out, commenced to adjust the engine.
"I see she needs a little tuning up this morning," he said, pulling off his gauntlets and fishing a screwdriver out of one of the many pockets in his aviator's coat. Bill joined him.
"It is a good machine," admitted Ernest. "I am certainly proud to own it. It is too good a machine for me but I am as careful of it as I know how to be. I think so much of it that I never try any fool stunts with it. Dad says it was worth all he put into it just on that account. He says that perhaps I would forget to take care of my own safety, but he is sure I will never fail to look after this little pet. For instance, when I was learning to fly three years ago (and I don't consider that I really know how to do it yet) they tried to din it into me that I must always keep the tail of my machine a little higher than the nose, in case the engine should go dead when I wasn't expecting it."