“Why didn’t you tell me what he wanted,” he exploded. “Gosh, Tim, I’m so tickled I hardly know what to do.”
“I’m mighty glad, too,” said Tim. “It’s a great opportunity and I know you’ll make good. We’re to take three or four weeks and go in for an intensive course.”
When they reached the municipal field the next morning, Tim took Ralph to the office where he introduced him to Carl Hunter, the genial manager of the field.
“So you’re going to be the new flying reporter,” smiled Hunter as he greeted Ralph. “That’s great. Tim phoned me yesterday and I’ve got a ship all ready and waiting on the line for you chaps.”
Ralph was a little disappointed when he saw the craft in which he was to take his first lesson. It was an antiquated machine whose exact number of years were unknown. Suffice to say that it was classed as a “Jenny,” a type of biplane used by the army in training it’s flyers in the days of the World War.
The Jenny’s wings drooped a little dejectedly and her fuselage was liberally patched and doped but the motor, which was turning over slowly, sounded sweet.
“Everything O.K.?” asked Hunter as Tim completed his examination of the plane.
“Looks like it,” said the flying reporter, as he turned to his chum to explain the intricacies of a seat pack parachute. With the heavy package banging around his knees, Ralph climbed into the rear cockpit. The instruments there looked sensible enough to him. A gas gauge to indicate the amount of fuel, an altimeter to show the height, an oil gauge to show that the motor was getting the proper amount of lubrication and a tachometer which indicated the number of revolutions of the motor per minute.
Tim was getting Ralph acclimated to the cockpit and he intentionally kept the motor idling while he explained the functions of the controls; how the rudder at the back of the fuselage controlled the right and left direction of the plane while the ailerons on the wings were used to direct it’s up and down movements. The explanation seemed simple enough to Ralph and when he placed his feet on the rudder bar it recalled days not so long gone when he had guided a speeding sled down long hills. This might not be so bad, after all, but he admitted a few qualms when Tim climbed into the forward cockpit, strapped himself in, revved up the motor, waggled the wings, and sent the plane throbbing into the air.
Ralph needed some time to get used to the sensation of roaring along through the clouds at eighty miles an hour and for the first fifteen or twenty minutes Tim made no effort to give his chum any further instructions. Instead, they conversed freely through the headphones and Tim took pains to keep Ralph’s attention diverted from the plane and its maneuvering. When he felt that his chum had become more air-minded he started the actual instruction.