As the hard-boiled sergeant went into lengthy detail on what each man was to do, the student flyers stood at ease, attentively listening to their instructor, all except Lefty who, as usual, when facing a crisis in his career, completely lost control of his nerves, due to an uncontrollable feeling of over-anxiety and a lack of faith in himself. “Don’t forget your stuff now,” Panama finished by warning each man, “Climb up eight hundred feet, circle the field and make a three-point landing. Now remember—that stick ain’t no pool cue!” Steve sensed that the last warning was entirely for his sole consumption. With a sickening self-assuredness, he left the line and strutted nonchalantly over to the first plane, stepping on the wing and climbing into the cockpit. Panama followed the man with his eyes and as Steve adjusted his Gasborne helmet, the sergeant issued the word to “give her the gun.” Every man’s eyes followed the course of Steve’s plane as she taxied down the field, making a careless and sloppy take-off. “Do you see what he did?” Panama roared angrily, turning to Lefty and pointing after Steve’s rising plane. “He forgot everything I told him. The lame-brained son of a half-wit tries to take off before he gets flying speed. Now when he comes down, you take your hop, and don’t make the same mistake!” All eyes, including the nervous boy’s, peered heavenward, watching Steve circle as a mechanic came running across the field to where Lefty was standing. “Your name Phelps!” the mechanic asked, holding out a piece of folded white note paper. Lefty nodded and, taking the note from the man, opened it hurriedly, instantly recognizing Elinor’s handwriting. “I am rooting for you. Good luck!” she had scribbled across the paper. Lefty smiled confidently as he placed the note carefully away in the breast pocket of his regulation windjammer. A strong feeling of self-confidence arose within him, stifling his anxiety and nervous tension. He looked over in the direction of the reviewing stand and saw Elinor sitting on the narrow wooden steps, waving to him, clasping her hands over her head in a gesture of good luck. Once more, his own problems took possession of his mind and he found himself mechanically rehearsing the action of the stick that Panama had taught him, concentrating upon each different movement. Just then a major, in charge of flying instruction, approached and after returning Panama’s salute, called the sergeant aside. “Are you certain that man is ready to make his solo?” he asked, pointing to Lefty. “He seems nervous to me!” Panama knew what this opportunity meant to Lefty and, so long as it was up to him, he was determined to see to it that nothing arose to prevent the boy making his last lap in the struggle for wings. “Just a bit overanxious, sir,” he explained, “He’ll come through O.K., though. He’s one of the best in the new squad.”