“Monsieur Hale, one sometimes learns more by his mistakes than by his triumphs,” were the words he heard, however. The instructor spoke in genial tones. “Let us hope that it will be true in this case! Come!—now for another trial!”
Like a flash, Don Hale’s mood was changed; his usual buoyancy reasserted itself, and he was now as well able to laugh over his adventure as any of the others. He also had very grateful feelings toward the moniteur for his forbearance.
“Dublin Dan’s ahead in the race so far!” he exclaimed, laughingly, to his chum George Glenn.
“Never mind! The day isn’t over yet,” said George, with a smile.
Full of ardor, full of determination to retrieve himself, the élève pilot took the lead in marching back to the starting point.
There were always two things on the practice field which well testified to the hazardous nature of the work; a fleet of extra “penguins” and an ambulance. One of the former was very quickly rolled into place by the assistants. And Don, his ears assailed by a multitude of suggestions and words of advice, climbed at once to his seat.
By this time numerous other “penguins,” at widely separated points, were traveling over the field. Number twelve, Dan’s machine, could actually be seen racing toward them on the home stretch; and in an incredibly short space of time the dull gray wings loomed up strongly against the turf. Following a few extraordinary movements, the machine stopped abruptly, and from the occupant of the pilot’s seat there immediately came a series of loud and boisterous hurrahs.
“Maybe I didn’t have a bully trip!” he shouted. “Thought at first, though, I couldn’t stop the engine, and that I’d have to go clean around the whole earth and come back again. But say, old stay-in-one-place, I can almost feel, even now, the caressing touches of those wind-blown clouds on my cheeks.”
“Well, that’s a great deal better than feeling the caresses of the hard earth, as I did a few moments ago,” laughed Don.
“Allez, allez! En route!”[[2]] commanded the moniteur.