An instructor flew down to get me. He landed his ship and then walked over and looked at my ship. He looked at the gas tanks. He looked in the cockpit at the gas valves. He turned to me. His eyes twinkled.
“What was the matter, wouldn’t your reserve tank take?” he asked.
“No, sir, it wouldn’t take,” I lied.
“That’s the first tough luck you’ve had during the course, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I have never cracked up before.”
He flew me back to Kelly Field.
[A POOR PROPHET]
“What is the weather to New York?” I asked the weather man at the air-mail field at Bellefonte, Pa.
“Clear and unlimited all the way,” he told me.