After lunch Dorothy and Bill established themselves comfortably in the
shade of the terrace awning back of the Bolton's house, and Dorothy's
ground training began.
"First of all," said her instructor, "you must learn the signals for
maneuvers, such as when the stick is shaken laterally, one hand held up,
it means control of the plane is resumed by the instructor. Opening the
throttle in a glide means resume level flight. There are eight of these
signals to memorize. Then there are eight correction signals as well."
"I'll get them down soon enough," his pupil assured him. "Is that all?"
"I should say not. That's just a starter. Your ground training will
consist of three parts: theoretic training, which takes up principles of
flight; aircraft construction, aviation engine construction; and the
elements of meteorology. Next, practical training, which embraces the
maintenance and repair of aircraft together with maintenance and repair
of aviation engines. Then comes aviation procedure, which takes up air
commerce regulations; instruction procedure (signals come under that)
and precautions and general instructions."
"Whew!" whistled Dorothy in dismay. "It _is_ a business!"
Bill laughed at her forlorn expression. "Cheer up--the first hundred
years are the hardest. But seriously, to become an efficient air pilot,
it is essential to know thoroughly this ground work and all of the
maneuvers I listed under elementary flying. None of them can be safely
omitted. Of those I included under advanced flying, acrobatics are not
required for a pilot's license, but they're a grand help in developing
ability to handle a plane with confidence. Proficiency in reverse
control flying, precision landings with power, forced landings and cross
country flying is required for an interstate commercial license--and
vital for every pilot."
"Is _that_ all?" asked Dorothy, with diminished enthusiasm.
"No. To become a real flyer, you must understand aerial navigation and
pass off formation flying and night flying. It sounds like a lot--but it
really isn't so difficult. Of course, if you don't _want_ to go the
whole way--"
"Oh, but I do, Bill," she said earnestly. "It's only that I never
dreamed there was so much to be learned. It kind of takes my breath
away--"
"You mustn't let that bother you. I'm glad you're going to do the thing
up right, though. It will take a lot of your time--but you'll find it
worth your while. Let's get busy now. We'll start on signals. Then later
this afternoon you can go up again if you feel like it."
For the next two weeks Dorothy worked daily with Bill. By the end of
that time she had completed her elementary solo flying and was now
engrossed in mastering the difficulties of reverse control.
Bill realized after giving her two or three lessons, that his pupil
showed a high degree of aptitude for flying. Their trip home in the
amphibian after the wreck of the _Scud_, had proved pretty conclusively
to him that this sixteen-year-old girl had an unusually cool and stable
temperament. Ordinarily, flight training is inadvisable for anyone under
eighteen years of age, and Bill knew that twenty years is preferable.
For, ordinarily, the instinctive coordination between sensory organs and
muscles, which is necessary toward the control of a plane in the air,
does not develop earlier. An airplane must be kept moving or it will
fall; and the processes of reason are far too slow to keep up with the
exigencies of flight. Flying cannot be figured out like a problem in
mathematics. Calculation won't do the trick--there isn't enough time for
it.
Of course there are exceptions to this rule. Bill Bolton was one
himself, and Dorothy, he knew, was another.
When Mr. Dixon questioned him as to Dorothy's progress, he gave him a
list of the maneuvers that had already been mastered, and the
approximate length of time she had taken to satisfy him in performance.
"But that doesn't mean a thing to me--" objected the older man. "Look
here--I was talking to a friend of mine who is an old Royal Flying Corps
man. He said that Dorothy should wait several years before training. How
about it? I know your reputation as a flyer, and I've proved my
confidence in you by trusting you with my daughter's life. Why is it
better for her to start now, rather than later?"
"Do you play the violin, sir?"
"No ear for music." Mr. Dixon shook his head in reminiscence. "My father
played well. It was his ambition that we play duets together. But after
wasting money for two years on lessons for me, he gave it up. My! the
sounds I made when I practiced! It must have been torture to him. I
can't tell one note from another--but I remember how awful it was. But
what has _that_ got to do with Dorothy's flying?"
"A good deal. You couldn't play the violin because you are not musical,
and only a musical person can learn to play it well. In some respects,
mastery of the violin and mastery of flying, have a common bond. With
both the one fundamental requirement is natural or instinctive aptitude.
Flying is an art, and without natural ability it is useless to attempt
it. And if it isn't inherent, Mr. Dixon, it just can't be acquired.
Moreover, the only way to find out if that aptitude exists, is by trial.
If Dorothy had the natural ability for the violin that she has for
flying, practice and experience would make her a second Kreisler!"
A smile crept along the corners of Mr. Dixon's mouth. "Ah, but Kreisler
is a _man_!"
"I know, sir, but honestly, sex has nothing to do with it."
"So you think she should keep on with her flight training?"
"I _know_ she should, Mr. Dixon, if you want her to fly at all. She has
all the qualifications that go toward making a really _good_ air pilot."
"Well, I'm glad to hear you say it, and glad you're so enthusiastic."
"Of course I am," declared Bill. "She's fearless and alert and she loves
the work--she'll do well."
And so Dorothy continued her flight training.
She came down one afternoon from a solo flight and Bill, who had been
watching her maneuvers from the shade of the hangar, walked over as the
plane rolled to a stop.
"Not so good--" she called out as she sprang to the ground. "I nearly
overshot my landing."
"So I noticed," returned her young instructor rather grimly.
"Carelessness, you know, that's all. Keep your mind on the job. And
here's something else. Remember, when you are making a flipper turn, the
nose must first be dropped to level. Otherwise you'll get into serious
trouble. Also don't forget that until the wings pass an angle of bank of
45 degrees your controls are not inverted and must be handled as in a
normal turn."
"O.K. skipper," she sighed. "I'll remember in future."
"One thing more. Those two 360-degree spirals with an altitude loss of
about 1000 feet were well done. But you must bring your plane out of
reverse control spirals above 1500 feet altitude--Now we'll put your bus
away and call it a day."
Work finished, they strolled over to the terrace where Frank as usual
had iced drinks awaiting them.
"You've certainly taught me a lot in fourteen days," observed Dorothy
after sipping her ginger ale. "But it's kind of put a crimp into our
detective work. By the way, you never have told me what you had up your
sleeve with regard to the robbery--something to do with an airplane
coming in handy, wasn't it?"
"Your memory is better on the ground than in the air!"
"Pish! likewise, tush! You don't intend to wait till I finish training
or anything like that, before coming across with that clue that will
help us land those birds in jail?"
"Why should I?"
"I don't know. Thought maybe you might figure my interest in landing the
gang would take my mind off flying--"
Bill took a long, refreshing drink of the iced liquid at his elbow.
"You're on the wrong track. I'm simply biding my time and keeping a
finger on the pulse of the robbery, as it were."
"Do you mean that?"
"I'm in deadly earnest," he assured her, although his eyes twinkled
mischievously.
"Then all I can say," exclaimed Dorothy, "is that you're one up on
everybody else who is working on the case."
"How come?"
"Why? you know as well as I do that when the Packard rolled out of the
alley by the bank, in all probability carrying three people and the
loot, it disappeared completely. And it's stayed that way ever since,
hasn't it? That's two weeks ago tonight."
"Any new clues lately?"
"Nary a one. The police traced the red-headed girl's finger prints to
Sarah Martinelli, better known as Staten Island Sadie. They sent Dad her
record--I saw it--believe me, that lady is a ripe egg!"
"How beautifully expressive."
Dorothy raised her eyes from her compact's tiny mirror.
"Well, she must be!--Are you trying to kid me?"