Lindbergh sat silent during this discourse and when the galley was handed him, divided it into the three parts. The section on his flying experience he handed to Bob Douglas; the technical section he passed to me; his “early life” he kept to himself. There was a long silence while we three scanned copy. I thumbed through a collection of clichés designed to glorify the Wright Whirlwind, until I found what I had been sent to look for. Sure enough, someone had put into Lindbergh’s mouth a quote to the effect that his flight had clearly shown that armies and navies might now be done away with, and the moneys previously wasted devoted to an air force. After a while Lindbergh glanced at Bob Douglas. “How about your part, Bob?” he asked. Bob Douglas saw nothing out of line in his section. It had been developed largely from Lindbergh’s own reports of his parachute drops from the mail planes in soupy weather, and was quite factual. Lindbergh looked my way. “To be wholly honest with you,” I said, “I was planted here to see that you didn’t sink the whole Navy with one little bomb, and here it all is, in quotes.” Lindbergh grinned. Some years later I was to learn from a naval officer who accompanied Lindbergh home on the _Memphis_ that the young pilot had even then been disturbed by the trend his book was taking and had accepted Secretary Wilbur’s offer of technical assistance as a possible way out of his dilemma. Now he listened as I read that part. “If you think that is crazy,” he grinned, “just listen to this.” So saying, he began to read aloud from his “early life.” As I recall what he read, it stressed Lindbergh’s qualities as a daredevil, something that certainly did not coincide with my own estimate of him. He was bold, yes, courageous, undoubtedly, but he was the most painstakingly accurate and precise young pilot I had yet encountered, and these qualities, combined with his unique flying skill, had made it possible for him to undertake the impossible, without being a daredevil. Now as he read the passages, Mr. Putnam’s representative nervously interrupted him to interpose the publisher’s point of view; this treatment was all just a part of the publisher’s job; you had to do it, or the book just would not sell. Lindbergh turned his clear eyes on me. “If you were in my place, Commander,” he inquired, “what would you do?” The room was still as I pondered this question. We could hear voices and laughter from the others of the party as they enjoyed their lemonade out on the porch. “Colonel Lindbergh,” I replied, “I don’t believe anyone but you yourself can write _We_.” Without a moment’s hesitation he turned to the man from Putnam’s. “That confirms a decision I had already taken on the _Memphis_,” he said simply. “I’m sorry about all the work that has been done, but it just can’t be helped.”