y become a creature of some
finer, rarer place. When Webby told about it next day, he said, "I felt
like I was a chicken just hatched fum out an aig," but Webby said that
because words were hard things and difficult to handle. He really
thought of angels and made up his mind then and there to be a great man.

Bill made the landing on the other side of the field as Ernest had
suggested, and he and Webby sat in the car and laughed as the audience
streaked across to them. Webby shook just a little when he stood once
more on solid earth, and he was more silent than ever. But when Ernest
came up he said in a low tone: "Say, ain't there books about this here?"

"What you want is a magazine," said Ernest, "and I will send you mine as
soon as I have read it."

"Every time it comes?" asked Webby. "Say, you are good!"

"That's all right," said Ernest, "only take one piece of advice. The
flying will keep. Just you _keep on going to school_. You will need all
sorts of learning, especially mathematics."

"Ho; I kin _eat_ figgers!" boasted the boy.

"That's good," said Ernest, shaking his hand. "Now, good-bye. I have
left my address with your mother. If you will write me next week, I will
send you that magazine."

They said good-bye to the kindly farmers, having filled up with gas,
settled Frank in his seat, and arose just as a great white moon showed
itself over the trees.

Once more they were off. With good luck they would reach their
destination early the following day. Bill was tired, deadly tired; but
he thought of the pain Ernest must be suffering from his wounded arm and
settled himself to his task with dogged determination. He had never been
up after dark, and the sensation was a new one. He was glad to have
Ernest beside him. As they rose, a couple of enormous birds sailed out
of their way. Eagles or buzzards; he did not know enough of the country
to be able to tell which. He was conscious of a feeling of dizziness and
fatigue. Everything he had ever heard about side slipping, tail spins,
nose dives--in fact, all the accidents that might befall an aviator
passed through his mind in gruesome procession. He looked down at the
compass, now beginning to show its luminous dial, and saw that they were
really going in the right direction. As he looked down, he commenced to
feel a stranger to the many levers and knobs before him. He knew them
all, knew them like a book; at least he had. Now they were slipping,
slipping away