* * * * * We were grouped around Miss West. She was pale, and she spoke in a voice that was slightly shaken. But she spoke bravely. She was that kind. “The crash came just as I lifted myself up over the wing surface of the Jenny. It nearly knocked me loose--twisted me around. I hung on, though--pulled myself up. But I ripped the ’chute pack loose from part of its harness. I wanted to get clear--couldn’t find the rip-ring. So I lay there--and waited. You know the rest.” Bob Brooks nodded his head. Steve Lott said excitedly: “Lord, it was close! I wanted to get in, get a perfect shot for the camera. We hit a bump--and I tried to zoom. But we crashed before she nosed up. All three ships got it. We’ll stand the loss, of course--but--” He stopped. He was too shaken to go on. The girl’s eyes were on Russ Healy, who was frowning. “I’m sorry!” she said simply. “No use saying what I think--you _know_. Man--that battered crate is--” She stopped, groped for a word, found it--“wonderful! Can she fly? I’m here--to tell you _she can_!” * * * * * Russ smiled, but he didn’t say much. Later, while he was patching up the fuselage of the Old Lady, I caught him alone. It had been a tight jam for all of us. Two planes gone--and three of us using ’chutes. No pictures, of course. All smashed--all that had been taken. But if it hadn’t been for Russ--and the Old Lady-- Well, Joan West wouldn’t laugh _that_ way again at a battered plane. I told Russ that, and then I asked a question. It had been worrying me a bit. “Supposing things had gone right, Russ--what were you figuring on doing with the girl? How were you going to prove--” Russ Healy grinned. “Mac,” he said slowly, “I wasn’t going to do a thing. What in hell _could_ I do? That kid had nerve.” I chuckled. Russ Healy throwing a bluff! It was almost funny. “She had nerve,” he repeated grimly, “and believe me, Mac, that’s what you’ve got to have--when it comes to picture stuff!” [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the March, 1928 issue of _Blue Book_ magazine.]