“You’re up in the air right now, Singleton,” chortled Rogers.
Albert, who had a pretty good command of French, swelled up with even greater pride as he listened to the moniteur’s “C’est bien fait, mon ami—it was well done, my friend.”
“I’ll soon be bumping into the clouds,” he declared, a confident grin on his face.
The machine was quickly turned around by several Annamites, and then Drugstore, yelling loudly for every one to get out of the way, started his motor full blast; whereupon the monoplane began to glide swiftly ahead. As the machine attained a speed of about forty miles an hour it gracefully left the terrestrial globe several yards behind, and, like an arrow shot from the archer’s bow, cut through the still, silent air toward its distant goal.
“Some flyer, that baby!” laughed Rogers.
And, indeed, his comments were just. Very few of the other students were approaching Albert’s performance. Their landings were generally faulty—so faulty, in fact, as to endanger the safety of plane and flyer alike.
It was only a very short time before Drugstore’s plane was seen returning. Don Hale watched the machine rapidly growing larger with breathless interest, fearful that Albert’s great flush of enthusiasm might have engendered so great a confidence in his ability as to threaten his efforts with disaster. Exactly at the proper moment, however, exactly in the proper way, the Bleriot dipped; and then, exactly in the proper manner, it struck the earth, and, after rolling a certain distance, came to a halt.
“Well, who said I couldn’t learn to fly!” shouted Drugstore, hilariously. “Whoop! It’s easier than slopping soda-water over a shiny counter. Oh, boy, I’ll soon be able to give an eagle lessons!”
It was now another pupil’s turn to take the machine, and Albert, releasing the restraining straps about his body, jumped stiffly to the ground. His gait for several moments became so noticeably uncertain as to bring forth a volley of humorous observations.
“Success has gone to his head!” cried one.