He taxied his ship deftly around into position and Panama and Lefty ran to greet him. “That was a peach of a landing, Steve,” Lefty announced as the other man crawled out of the cockpit, removing his helmet and wiping the grease from his face.
“Not so bad, young feller,” Panama added, unbegrudgingly.
Steve looked at them both, very much self-satisfied, and, in his usual indifferent and aggravating manner, replied, “I’m afraid you’re right, sergy!”
He then proceeded to unstrap his parachute and, as Lefty walked toward the plane, handed it to him.
“Here you are, Phelps,” he heckled derisively. “You’ll probably need this ’chute, but when you jump, don’t forget to pull the ring!”
Steve’s uncalled-for remark completely upset Lefty’s confidence in himself. He turned upon the now successful pilot with a menacing look in his eye, slowly moving toward him until Panama stepped between them.
“Now be on your way,” he warned Phelps. “Remember, climb eight hundred feet, circle the field and make a three-point landing!”
Lefty climbed up into the cockpit just as Panama came over alongside of the fuselage, followed by Steve.
“If you fly backward, it doesn’t count,” Steve added with derision. “And remember, you’re not playing Harvard!”
Upon hearing these words, Lefty became so rattled that he was unable to get his helmet over his head.