“I—I’m all right, I guess. I—I missed the kid, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, that scamp’s okay,” Sam reassured. “That was a nervy thing you just did. Too bad it had to spoil your jump. You’re too shaken up. We’d better call this a day. I’m awfully sorry—really!”
Sam helped Reed to his feet. Director Turner came hurrying up; the crowd commenced gathering around.
“Give me just a minute,” Reed pleaded. “I’ve got two more jumps coming. I...!”
“Two more?” exclaimed Sam. “You’ve got three. We’re not counting that one.”
“Thanks,” said Reed, and gave the fellow he detested a questioning glance. These Northerners were more chivalrous than he had thought.
“You’ve jumped enough,” declared Coach Turner, taking Reed’s arm. “You’ve done wonders as it is....”
“No!” insisted Reed, his soft eyes taking on a look of grim determination. “Whenever a fellow crashes, he’s got to go up and take-off again. That’s an old glider rule. I’m all right. Make way for me, will you please?”
“Well, I’ll be dogged!” cried Sam, in sheer admiration, as the fellow he had pestered brought an ovation from the crowd by starting the long climb up the hill.
“A Markham never quits!” Reed was repeating to himself as he went toward the top.