The flying man was little more than a novice, and sufficiently young to resent interference on the part of one obviously younger than himself.  Besides, he had connected up those control wires himself.  He glanced hurriedly at the terminals, and seeing that they were apparently secure, thought the boy beside him must be mistaken.  He missed the crossed wires.  He said to Harry, with just a suspicion of superciliousness, “Oh, she is quite O.K., thanks,” and started his engine and sprang into his seat as the plane moved off across the meadow.

Harry stood watching the receding plane with something akin to consternation in his heart.  Naturally shy, he did not think of pressing his opinion, but he knew trouble was in store for the young airman, though in just what form it would come he could not figure out.  The monoplane had not gone far along the grass before the flier tried to raise it.  As the machine did not answer properly to the elevator, he thought something must have stuck, and jerked the lever as if to free it.  Afterwards the airman was not clear as to just what happened.

Harry could see the airman was trying some maneuver, and as he looked, the plane rose nose first from the ground, almost perpendicularly and then took an odd nose-dive head into the ground.  The plane was not many feet from the earth when it dived, but was far enough up to come to the ground with a bad crash.  Harry could see a dash of white spray in the sunlight as the gasoline splashed upward at the moment of the smash.  The monoplane heeled over and the pilot went out of sight behind the wreckage.  The graceful white tail stood high in air.

Running as fast as he could, Harry got to the scene of the accident before the airman had risen from the ground.  The strap which had held him into his seat had burst, and he had suffered a nasty spill.  Investigation showed, however, that he was but little the worse, save for the shock and the fright.  He was as pale as a sheet.  Harry helped him to his feet and assisted him to take stock of his injuries.  By the time they had discovered that no bones were broken and the bruises the young fellow had sustained were quite superficial, Parks, the head instructor, dashed up in a motor car.  As he leaped out beside the wrecked plane, there was a frown on his face.  “Another smash?” he queried.

Harry learned later that the young airman had already smashed up two machines that week before demolishing the old monoplane.

“What was wrong this time?” Parks spoke sharply.

Without hesitation the young pilot answered:  “I must have hitched the old girl up wrong, some way.  This friend here,” nodding toward Harry, “was good enough to tell me before I started that I had mussed things up before I got into her.  I was a fool not to have listened to him, but,” and he paused, smiling, “but he looked pretty young to be giving advice.  I wish now I had listened to him.”