One man alone was dissatisfied, but he was always dissatisfied. The sneer on Pap Curtain’s lips was more pronounced, and the snarl in his voice was accentuated as he said to those who plodded along in the rear of the procession: “Dat Red Cutt wus pretty sharp when he side-tracked his ride in dat airplane fer a speech by Elder Vinegar Atts. But dat nigger can’t excape away, an’ I’ll make him fly yit or know the reason why.” The other negroes did not answer. They were too busy harmonizing with the Tickfall quartet: “Swing low, sweet chariot, Coming to carry me home.” VI A FEATHER IN HIS HAT Early the next morning there were four men who paid a visit to all the negro settlements in Tickfall. They explained that they were a canvassing committee who were soliciting members for the High Exalted Negro Flying Club. Red Cutt had told them that it was impossible to teach three hundred negroes at one time the art of aviation. The classes could not consist of more than one hundred, but he was willing to teach as many as wanted to learn. He said that he would have to divide them into three classes, and instruct just one class at a time. It was the Tickfall Big Four who did the canvassing, and after a while there was a disagreement among them. The religious adherents of Vinegar’s church fell out like the early disciples over the question of “Who should be greatest?” They went back to Red Cutt and presented the matter to him. “Who’s gwine be president of dis here club?” Skeeter Butts demanded. “I thinks you ought to be presidunt,” Red told him, “because you done had some expe’unce as a flyin’ man.” “Ain’t dar no mo’ jobs connected wid dis club?” Vinegar Atts inquired. “Suttinly,” Red told him. “I app’ints you observer right now.” “What do a observer do?” Vinegar Atts inquired. “He sets up in de airplane an’ looks at de scenery an’ lets de worl’ go by.” “Dat suits me,” Vinegar bellowed. “Settin’ down an’ lookin’ at things is a easy, high, hon’able job.” “I needs a job, too,” Hitch Diamond grumbled. “I app’ints you mechanic,” Red Cutt announced promptly. “Git yo’ tools an’ all yo’ wipin’ rags an’ git ready fer de job of keepin’ dat machine in order.” “Whut do I git to do?” Figger Bush wanted to know. “I nomernates you stabilizer.” “Does dat mean dat I keeps de stable whar de machine stays at?” Figger Bush inquired. “Yep, you is de high boss keeper of the hangar, an’ yo’ job is to steady the machine when folks climbs in an’ climbs out.” That each negro was satisfied with his job was apparent from the fact that he took out a cigarette and lighted it, and sat for a while in silent meditation. At last Vinegar spoke. “We done collected up over a hundred dollars already.”