It was, therefore, with the greatest feelings of relief that he again brought the machine to a stop.
And before this had been accomplished he heard George Glenn shout:
“Great—great! Well done, old chap!”
“Surprised, George?” asked Don, gleefully, when he could catch his breath.
“No; there are never any surprises on an aviation field,” laughingly rejoined the other.
“Vous avez fait de progres, mon ami,”[[3]] commended the moniteur. “Better take a few moments’ rest before starting in again.”
Don Hale thought so, too. Naturally, he hadn’t quite recovered from the effects of his exhilarating experience. His pulse was beating a trifle hard, and, unaccustomed to the rushing wind which had beaten so relentlessly upon him, there still remained some of its effects.
“I’m in a better position now to appreciate the feelings of Drugstore,” laughed Don to a little knot gathered about him. “Honestly, I think flying must be the greatest sport in the world.”
“It’s certainly the highest,” chirped Tom Dorsey.
“You’ve got the right idea, son,” chimed in Gene Shannon. “Treat the old birds gently, and you’ll soon be in a position to treat the Boches rough.”