At a brisk walk Don and George set out for the distant aviation field, and before very long the ever moving “penguins” were left far to the rear. Now Don and his chum had an excellent view of the real flying machines, as they winged their way in straight flights from one end of the piste to the other, or taxied over the ground to rise in the air with amazing ease and lightness.
Another crowd of moniteurs, students and mechanicians stood around, the moniteurs following the movements of the planes with the most critical attention.
One after another the flyers alighted, some with ease and precision; some striking the earth sufficiently hard to have thrown the pilot out had he not been buckled to his seat.
“Whew! I’ll bet lots of planes are smashed!” cried Don.
“You win,” said George, dryly. “Hello! Look at the machine which just made that bully landing. Whom do you see on the pilot’s seat?”
“Goodness gracious! As I live, it’s Drugstore!” burst out Don.
But as Don, unmindful of the moniteurs or the crowd, left George’s side and rushed up to congratulate him on his success, T. Singleton Albert’s face didn’t have at all its usual half shy and modest look. Instead, it rather suggested the expression worn by some mighty hero on the occasion of his greatest triumph.
“Did you see me?” cried Drugstore, breathlessly.
“I should say so!” exclaimed Don.
“Flying!—Why, there’s nothing to it, son. Oh, boy! Only a perfect boob couldn’t handle these ships.” Drugstore almost stuttered in his elation and excitement. “But, take it from me, son, some of these chaps here couldn’t learn to drive an ash cart. Hello! I say, Rogers”—he raised his voice—“did you see me that time? I brought her down so easily I didn’t even rumple the grass.”