He had not.

Joe, in his anxiety and inexperience, had pulled up his machine a little too quickly.  Its headway stopped, as it was still a dozen feet from the ground, along which Joe had hoped to glide gracefully to rest.  The biplane hung a moment in the air, as if undecided what to do.  Fortunately Joe had shut off the engine when his intuition told him all was not right.  He could not tell what distance the wheels of the chassis lacked before they would rest on terra firma, but hoped against hope that they were nearer than they seemed to be.

The machine, losing all impetus, simply sat down with a bump.  The chassis and the under plane smashed with a sound of ripping canvas and splintering wood.  Joe had a good bump, too, but was none the worse for it physically.  He stepped out of his seat before the boys could run to the wrecked biplane.  They were all sympathy and eagerness to see if Joe was hurt.  He had not dropped far, but had come down with such a thud that even Parks was anxious.  Bob Haines was the first of the Brighton boys to reach the machine.  “Are you all right, Joe?” he called out as he came up.

“Guess so,” was the reply.  “I feel jarred—–­but look at the poor old bus!  How did I do it?  After all our hard work, she is completely wrecked again, and I did it.”  Joe felt that it would be a relief to get away from the scene of the smash, and had to down a temptation to walk off by himself.  He was almost heartbroken when he thought of all the work that his mistake had undone.

“Never mind,” said Parks.  “Everyone has to learn.  I will bet that you don’t pull up short when landing another time.”

Joe was not to be thus easily comforted.  Sensitive to a degree, his heart entirely in his work, he was utterly disgusted with himself for having had the temerity to try the flight.  What hurt most was the knowledge that the plane the Brighton boys had so looked forward to having for practice flying they could hardly hope to get otherwise for a long time to come, was hors de combat, and possibly beyond another repair.

Recognizing Joe’s frame of mind, the boys grouped round the broken biplane in silence, searching their minds for a word that would give a crumb of comfort to their comrade.  The more they looked over the wreck, the less they knew what to say.

As they stood there, watching Parks poking round the smashed machine, Colonel Marker came up with Major Phelps.  They had not been far away when Joe had started on his experimental round of the airdrome, and had witnessed the whole episode.

“You did not do so badly until you landed,” said the colonel pleasantly.  “You should have stayed up.”

The boys had never before heard the colonel essay a joke, and were by no means sure that his first remark was not the preface to serious condemnation of Joe.  Colonel Marker had often been heard to treat the subject of smashed machines in a manner decidedly uncomplimentary to the luckless aviator who was responsible.