Ralph was slow to learn the rudiments of handling the plane, but he was steady and after another half hour in the air, Tim took his hands off the controls and signalled for Ralph to take the stick. Everything went well for several minutes until they struck an air pocket and the ship dropped fifty feet. Ralph, surprised at the sinking sensation, overcontrolled and threw the Jenny into a side-slip.
Tim righted the plane and continued the instruction for another ten minutes. Then he started down, calling Ralph’s attention to every shift in the position of the controls and explaining his reason.
When they skimmed to a stop in front of the office at the field they were stiff and numb from cold for the late winter winds had bitten through their heavy clothing.
Hunter was on hand to greet them.
“How goes it?” he asked.
“Fine, Carl, fine,” said Tim. “Ralph will make a cracking good flyer when he gets over being scared. We’ll be out again this afternoon.”
Three weeks slipped away and to Ralph and Tim the time was like three days. Then Ralph was ready for his solo flight. He had satisfied both Tim and Hunter that he could handle a plane and that morning, late in March, he was to soar aloft alone.
Ralph, silent and serious of face, took his place in the Jenny. He heard Tim yell a few reassuring words at him. Then he was off.
Ralph got the Jenny off the ground like a veteran and started climbing for altitude. At 2,000 feet he levelled off and swung the Jenny over the field in great circles, his motor barking in the crisp morning air. For fifteen minutes Tim and Hunter strained their necks as they watched Ralph put the Jenny through her paces.
“He’s all right,” said Hunter, “you’ve done a nice piece of work, Tim, in teaching him how to fly. I was afraid he wouldn’t be fast enough in an emergency.” When the manager of the Atkinson field said a flyer was all right, he was that and more, for Hunter was known as a cautious man.