It was not until Dave had a chance at a real biplane that he felt that he had gained a glorious promotion. He spent hours looking over a technical book Mr. King had loaned him. He hung around old Grimshaw every spare moment he could find. It was the afternoon on his third day’s tuition when Dave started his first real flight.
He had learned the perfect use of the rudder from running the airplane up and down the ground. Dave knew the danger of leaving the course unexpectedly in his frequent practice runs. He knew how to gauge a rush of air against the face, how to use the elevator as a brake to keep from pitching forward. Dave had mastered a heap of important details, and felt strong confidence in himself.
Dave rose a few feet from the ground with the motor wide open. He moved the rudder very gingerly. The switch was of the knife variety, and the throttle and advance spark were in the form of pedals working against springs.
“Ready,” called out Grimshaw, in his strange forbidding voice.
“Ready I am,” warbled Dave, keen for the contest of his skill.
“Then let her go.”
The biplane took a superb shoot into the air.
Dave was not afraid of forgetting how to run the machine straight ahead. He had watched Mr. King at the level too often for that. He got fairly aloft, tried coasting, veered, struck a new level, and worked the ailerons to decrease any tendency for tipping.
On his second turn Dave had to use the emergency brake, the stout bar of steel on the skid near the rear end. He banked on a spirited whirl, got his level, circled the course twice, and came back to the ground flushed with excitement and delight, without so much as a wrinkle put in the staunch aircraft.
It was on this account that Dave felt proud and then modest, as his staunch friend, Hiram, referred to him as an aviator. He had entire confidence now in his ability to manage an airship alone. Dave had some pretty ambitious dreams as he went on his way. Great preparations were being made for the meet, which was to open the next morning.