The major looked in Lefty’s direction again, shook his head doubtfully and, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, said, “All right, but I am depending upon your word, sergeant. If anything happens, the responsibility rests upon your shoulders.” Panama smiled confidently, brought himself to attention and saluted. “I’ll take that chance with any man I’ve trained, sir!” As the major walked off, the nose of Steve’s plane was turned toward the earth. In another few seconds, he was making a three-point landing in veteran style. He taxied his ship deftly around into position and Panama and Lefty ran to greet him. “That was a peach of a landing, Steve,” Lefty announced as the other man crawled out of the cockpit, removing his helmet and wiping the grease from his face. “Not so bad, young feller,” Panama added, unbegrudgingly. Steve looked at them both, very much self-satisfied, and, in his usual indifferent and aggravating manner, replied, “I’m afraid you’re right, sergy!” He then proceeded to unstrap his parachute and, as Lefty walked toward the plane, handed it to him. “Here you are, Phelps,” he heckled derisively. “You’ll probably need this ’chute, but when you jump, don’t forget to pull the ring!” Steve’s uncalled-for remark completely upset Lefty’s confidence in himself. He turned upon the now successful pilot with a menacing look in his eye, slowly moving toward him until Panama stepped between them. “Now be on your way,” he warned Phelps. “Remember, climb eight hundred feet, circle the field and make a three-point landing!” Lefty climbed up into the cockpit just as Panama came over alongside of the fuselage, followed by Steve. “If you fly backward, it doesn’t count,” Steve added with derision. “And remember, you’re not playing Harvard!” Upon hearing these words, Lefty became so rattled that he was unable to get his helmet over his head. Determined to put an end to this merciless chiding for once and for all, he rose and started to leave the cockpit just as Panama intervened. “Never mind that fresh mug. Just keep your mind on your job, kid, and you’ll show ’em all up!” The sergeant’s words helped to quiet the boy but he was still in anything but a calm and collected condition. After attaching his Gasborne helmet, his hand managed to find the throttle and the dormant motor came into action. All at once, that ill-fated day in the Yale Bowl came back to him, throwing his senses into utter confusion and rattling his nerves. He turned and caught the derision plainly visible upon the faces of all except Panama’s. Impulsively, his hand shoved the throttle and the plane eased forward. His face became a blank, emotionless thing as he strived to concentrate upon the mechanical contrivances. A sickening feeling gripped him, making him feel that he was licked before he started. Quickly he let his fingers drop from the throttle only to allow both hands to “freeze” on the stick as the ship continued to rapidly gain momentum.