The boy had heard about the “vrille,” and he knew that it is one of the
most difficult evolutions an airman can perform, and that it had sent
many to their death.
For a few moments of tense and awe-stricken silence the onlookers kept
their gaze fixed with agonized intentness upon the object which, like a
wounded bird, was tumbling through space.
A sickening sensation of horror and despair gripped the spectators. The
airplane and its pilot seemed doomed to utter annihilation.
Pale, trembling with apprehension, his throat dry and husky, Don Hale
could not keep his eyes away from the spectacle of that frightful fall.
He stood as motionless as though fastened to the turf by means of
invisible chains.
Nearer and nearer came the still-revolving plane. Now the machine was so
clearly silhouetted against the sky that even the supports could be
faintly distinguished.
Don had seen many a terrible sight during his stay in the war zone, but
perhaps none had ever affected him so acutely as this. He could not help
picturing in his mind the awful fate of poor Drugstore.
Not a voice—not an exclamation was heard. That most awesome silence
which sometimes holds sway over spectators when they are witnesses to a
catastrophe which they are powerless to avert had settled upon the
crowd.
Faces were beginning to be turned aside, and though Don Hale felt an
almost irresistible impulse to do the same, an impulse still stronger
kept his wide, staring eyes fixed upon the airplane.
But a few moments more, and the tragedy would be over. His nerves were
quivering violently. The strain of those few terrible seconds was almost
too hard to bear.
And then, just as he was preparing to steel himself for the sound of a
sickening crash—for the sight of a machine, smashed and battered to
pieces, bursting into flames—a wild, half-stifled cry escaped his lips.
What was the reason?
Because of an almost unbelievable, impossible happening.
The airplane had suddenly stopped its whirling evolutions, and was
soaring majestically through the air not a hundred feet above their
heads. Its engine had started and was sending a deep droning hum through
the air.
It took a few seconds for the strange and oppressive silence to be
broken. It was as though the enthralled witnesses of the scene could not
at first comprehend the evidences of their vision. Then frantic shouts
and wild cheers rang forth over and over again.
Actually!—Drugstore was safe. What did it mean? Had he become such a
master aviator that he had been simply giving an exhibition of his
skill? It looked that way.
In their joy, the students slapped each other on the shoulder and yelled
themselves hoarse.
Around and around the _-piste_ flew the airplane, and it was not until a
certain calmness had been restored among the students that it volplaned
swiftly toward the earth, and, as easily as a bird alighting, struck the
ground and presently came to a halt.
And the moment it had done so an excited crowd began rushing toward it
from different parts of the field.
No conquering hero was ever acclaimed with greater fervor—with greater
enthusiasm than T. Singleton Albert. Hands were thrust forward to shake
that of the returned aviator.
The moniteurs praised and chided him at the same time. It was almost
unbelievable, one of them declared, that a student with so little
experience should have possessed sufficient courage to execute such a
dangerous and daring maneuver.
And throughout it all Albert remained quite silent. The demonstration,
indeed, seemed to embarrass him—to bring his natural modesty and
reserve all the more to the front.
“Simply splendid, T. Singleton!” cried Don, enthusiastically. “Only, I
wish to goodness you had notified us beforehand what was coming off.
Honestly, my nerves are jumping like a jack-in-the-box. But didn’t the
vrille make you dizzy?”
“Yes,” admitted Drugstore—“so much so that just now I wouldn’t be able
to look in a mirror and see myself twice in the same place.”
“I don’t think you’ll have any occasion to fear Captain Baron Von
Richtofen and his Red Squadron of Death,” chuckled Marlow. “If they ever
get after you, son, just pull off the same trick, and it’ll mean a safe
getaway.”
Albert clambered out of the machine, and, as though wishing to escape
further attention, hurried rather unsteadily toward a camion standing by
the side of the field. But such a sensational and unexpected event was
not to be dismissed in so unceremonious a fashion. All the way to the
waiting vehicle the former soda-water dispenser was obliged to listen to
enthusiastic comments and reply to numerous queries.
And so it continued all the way to the Hotel d’Amerique, and even at the
supper table later on.
Then it was that Sid Marlow started other demonstration, by exclaiming,
in his big, booming voice:
“Sometimes a chap has no right to be modest. I’ve traveled over some
pretty rough trails, fellows, and early discovered that modesty is one
of the biggest stumbling blocks in the path of success. That’s the
reason I haven’t any.”
“We’ve noticed it,” chirped Roy Mittengale.
“You’ll notice it some more, too, when I equal Albert’s record. Now,
boys, I call upon our young friend for a speech. Who seconds the
motion?”
Everybody did, and with an enthusiasm which brought warm flushes to the
face of the embarrassed Albert.
He tried to resist, too, when those nearest at hand forced him to his
feet. This time, however, the crowd was determined. They brushed aside
the boy’s protestations, and presently Drugstore, finding that there was
absolutely no chance to escape the trying ordeal, began to make a few
stammering remarks.
For a moment the eyes of all in the room fixed intently upon him
threatened to stop altogether his halting words. And then, suddenly, to
the surprise of all, he collected his scattered wits and pulled himself
together. It was as if a new spirit had entered into him. The flush left
his cheeks and the tremolo in his voice was replaced by a firm and even
tone.
But the first words he uttered when this changed condition had taken
possession of him fairly astounded his hearers.
“Boys, I’m through with flying forever.”
“Through with flying forever!” cried Don.
Then came an almost riotous demand for explanations. The boys weren’t
going to stand for any “joshing.” But, as cool and collected as before
he had been the reverse, Albert voiced his declaration a second time.
“True as I’m standing here, boys, I mean it,” he declared. “I’m no hero.
That wasn’t a joy ride to show what I could do in the way of handling
the plane—oh, no! It was nearer to being a real tragedy. And I’m
through with the game for all time.”
Drugstore’s assertions created another sensation. A babel of tongues
prevented his next words from being heard.
Big Sid Marlow quickly restored silence.
“Now tell us all about it, Albert,” he commanded.
“It’s a mighty short story,” replied Drugstore. “I made up my mind to do
the vrille, but somehow or other, at the very last moment, the idea of
actually starting it had such an effect upon my nerves that I decided to
leave it for another time. Even the thought, high up there in the air,
was enough to send cold chills creeping through me and make me perform
some bungling movements with the controls. Before I could regain the
mastery over myself, almost before I could realize it, my plane was
thrown into the vrille and I was shooting through space, with the
machine absolutely out of control.” Albert’s voice faltered. An intense
agitation seemed to grip him. “It was terrible—frightful!” He almost
gasped. “Never had I the least expectation of coming through it alive.
Never shall I forget those terrifying moments—the agony I suffered.
That one experience, fellows, has taken away all the fascination of the
game. Call it a yellow streak if you want; call it a case of downright
cowardice—I can’t help that. I’m going to quit the flying school for
good.”
And having uttered these words with a conviction which permitted no one
to doubt his absolute sincerity, T. Singleton Albert abruptly turned
away and made for the door.
“Well,” exclaimed Don Hale, “that chap may not think he’s a hero, but,
all the same, I believe he is.”
And to this sentiment every one heartily agreed.