The aeroplanes were scarcely more fortunate. October winds around New York are most unruly things, and at that particular period seemed worse than usual. Weather-wise folk learned after awhile to look out at the flags on the high buildings; if they stood out straight from the staff, the people went about their business, knowing there would be no flying that day. But every one kept an ear cocked for the firing of a big cannon on Governor's Island, the signal that a flight was about to be made. Even these were deceiving, for there were so many salutes being fired by the great fleets in the river and bay, that no one could tell when to give heed to gun signals. So the crowds sat along Riverside Drive, or depended upon the unhappy and over-worked policemen for word of the aeroplanes. Some people were disposed to hold the policemen personally responsible for the failure of the airships to fly. "You'd think," said one of the blue-coated guardians on Riverside Drive, "that I was keepin' 'em back, the way these people go at me. They blame me and not the wind!" The wind held out and the week of festivities ended; still there had been no flying. I could not remain in New York any longer, as I had accepted an engagement some time before to fly at St. Louis. I was obliged therefore, much to my chagrin, and the disappointment of the crowds, to leave the city without making a flight up the river, although I did make a short flight over Governor's Island. Mr. Wilbur Wright, however, remained in New York, and during the following week made a magnificent flight up the river from Governor's Island to Grant's Tomb and return, a distance of about twenty miles. This gave the larger part of New York's millions their first glimpse of an aeroplane in flight. At St. Louis we gave a very successful meet. There were flights by Captain Baldwin, Lincoln Beachey, and Roy Knabenshue, in their dirigible balloons, and myself in my aeroplane. The weather conditions were favourable, and St. Louis turned out enthusiastic throngs to witness the exhibitions. The Pacific Coast, always progressive and quick to seize upon every innovation, no matter where it may be developed, had been clamoring for some time for an aviation meet. The enterprising citizens of Los Angeles got together and put up a large sum of money to bring out from Europe and the eastern part of the United States, a number of representative aviators for an international meet, the first ever given in this country. Louis Paulhan, one of the most celebrated French aviators, was brought over with a biplane and a monoplane, and there were a number of American entries, including Charles F. Willard and myself. Los Angeles furnished the first opportunity for a real contest in this country between the French and American machines, and these contests aroused immense interest throughout the country.