Richard Howells Watkins

“ Jerry stirred, as if under the lash of a whip. Nevertheless, he showed a placating grin. It was always possible that Beak had run into some particularly bad liquor and that he could be kidded out of his fit of temper.
“What’s the matter, Beak?” Jerry inquired. “Did another race horse sit down on you? You ought to stick to flying. Betting on races is risky.” ”

“ Meeting Jerry’s inquiring eye, Beak gripped the stick angrily and shook it about. The plane reeled in the air and Jerry was rattled about among the baggage. He snapped on his safety belt and ignored the man behind.
“He’ll be making me shine those puttees and slapping my hand with a ruler,” he mumbled in deep discomfiture. “But he can’t shake me loose from this ship.”
Jerry sank back into the cockpit again and stared at the sky. Cross-country flying has its thrills, but it also has its monotony when indulged in too frequently. ”

“ He dragged himself toward the nose of the ship. The prop was a splintered stump. But the motor looked good—pretty good. It takes more than a nose-over to ruin a chunk of metal.
He felt his ribs gingerly.
“I've got something gone in there,” he reckoned. “But I guess I’m a pilot now—and in about a month I’ll have a ship—my own ship. That hunch worked fine. I'm a pilot now.”
He looked at the plane and his mind was busy with the thought of a box splice for a broken spar of the lower right wing.
“Poor Beak!” he muttered. “He should ha’ stuck.” ”

“ Beak shouted, passing Jerry a dirty map of the southern New England states.
Jerry nodded and as they taxied out on the field he took a squint at the amount of country between them and Pittsfield. It was a long way to go with the sun beginning to incline toward the horizon. He glanced up at the sky. A few stray cumulus clouds were heading westward at a perceptible rate. That meant they would have a brisk easterly cross wind most of the way northward. Winds mean something in an old and underpowered ship. ”

“ Beak growled.
Jerry did not answer him. It was up to the pilot now.
“Crazy! Dumb! Gi’ me the ’chute! Get set to take control! Crazy! Hurry up!”
Hastily Jerry worked at the buckles. He felt only like a man easing himself of a burden. Finally he wormed out of the harness. He passed it and the ’chute pack carefully back to Beak. Then, steadying the ship with his own stick, he waited silently, sensing every move of the struggle Beak made in getting into the straps.
“Here’s the money, too, Beak,” he called, leaning down the fuselage and groping for the other man’s hand. ”

“ Beak blinked at this. There was something decisive about the way Jerry Tabor took off his work clothes. Beak disliked work clothes, himself, and the sight of his partner taking them off raised forebodings. He thought quickly and then spat out his cigarette.
“That suits me fine,” he growled. “The old man’s taught you to fly; he ain’t much more use to you. Go ahead, Jerry; I won’t stand in your way.”
Jerry was a bit staggered at Beak’s ready acceptance. Nevertheless, he remained determined.
“How about the ship and the ’chute?” he asked. “Will you buy me out or will I buy you?” ”

“ Beak snapped. He ignored the smile. “You slack off that wire, d’you hear? We’re going to hop out of this Godforsaken neighborhood right away. It’s as full of barnstorming planes as a dog is of fleas.”
Jerry looked at the senior partner in surprise.
“I thought we’d been doing pretty good business, myself, Beak,” he commented.
“Don’t think. Work!” Beak meditated, scowling at his puttees. “I’m getting pretty low down, I am,” he said aloud. “Me, Beak Becket, one of the pioneers in the flying game—one of the few of ’em left—being given orders by my own mechanic and wing walker! ”

“ Then he found himself struggling feebly against some powerful force that held him unflinchingly about the waist. His fingers came in contact with a familiar thing. It was the catch of his safety belt. ”