The flight commander, in the first plane, rose and looked down the line of ships, making certain that formation had been made and all were accounted for. He lifted his arm, which was a signal for every other pilot to do the same. Making certain that the way was clear, he dropped his hand, giving his plane the gun, and the great, crusading air fleet began to taxi down the field with a deafening roar of the motors and swiftly moving propellers. As the planes gained altitude, Panama, still wearing a jubilant expression of victory, looked out over the fuselage and waved down to Elinor who was still standing, with upturned head, watching the progress of the ships. The sergeant turned and motioned to Lefty to look down but the boy, understanding his object in requesting him to do so, merely scowled sullenly and kept his eyes straight ahead. Flying south, the planes fell into battle formation, creating a beautiful spectacle to view from the earth far below just as the sun rose, spreading its majestic glory and warmth over a bright and gorgeous Florida morning. After reaching his flying altitude, Panama held the stick with his knees as he nervously unwrapped the package Elinor had given to him before he left, his eyes eagerly resting upon some candy, a few packages of cigarettes and a large plug of chewing tobacco on top of which he found a note that read, “Good luck—Elinor.” In the rear cockpit, Lefty followed suit by opening his package and discovering a small sewing kit with some buttons and a copy of Lindbergh’s book, “We.” A small white card protruded from the corner of the book and with some hesitance, Lefty pulled it out and read the words that completely upset his emotions, causing him to wish that he had left Elinor in a different frame of mind, and yet, troubling him over the fact that this romance, if it didn’t end for once and for all, might break Panama’s heart. The sergeant looked back at Lefty, still wearing a broad, happy grin as he held up Elinor’s gift, he allowed the boy to read the note. Phelps nodded his head, attempting to smile unbegrudgingly. Panama then placed the box out of sight, folding the note and carefully putting it away in the pocket of his windjammer. The boy shook his head despairingly, sighed deeply and once more unfolded the small piece of white paper upon which the girl had scribbled: “I’ll miss you—Elinor.” Once again he read those few lines and the world of happiness they promised if he only dared so much as say the word. He watched Panama, now skillfully manipulating the plane. A sudden feeling of security and warmth came upon him and he gazed at the man before him with honest gratitude and an undying vow of devotion and friendship upon his lips. Slowly he folded Elinor’s note and tore it in two, dropping the pieces overboard to be separated and lost forever. CHAPTER IX