One morning Harry was standing beside a monoplane of the Bleriot type,
which had come from somewhere as an old school machine, and had not
been much in demand owing to the fact that no other monoplanes were
in evidence at the camp, when an army airman, an entire stranger to
Harry, came out of the hangar and glanced at the engine in evident
preparation for a flight.

The airman was about to start the engine when Harry noticed that the
elevator control wires were crossed. Whoever had attached them had
done so mistakenly. Harry could hardly believe the evidence of his
eyes, yet there it was, undeniable. Stepping forward, he said to
the airman: "Excuse me, but your control wires are not right."

The flying man was little more than a novice, and sufficiently young
to resent interference on the part of one obviously younger than
himself. Besides, he had connected up those control wires himself.
He glanced hurriedly at the terminals, and seeing that they were
apparently secure, thought the boy beside him must be mistaken.
He missed the crossed wires. He said to Harry, with just a suspicion
of superciliousness, "Oh, she is quite O.K., thanks," and started his
engine and sprang into his seat as the plane moved off across the meadow.

Harry stood watching the receding plane with something akin to
consternation in his heart. Naturally shy, he did not think of
pressing his opinion, but he knew trouble was in store for the young
airman, though in just what form it would come he could not figure out.
The monoplane had not gone far along the grass before the flier tried
to raise it. As the machine did not answer properly to the elevator,
he thought something must have stuck, and jerked the lever as if to
free it. Afterwards the airman was not clear as to just what happened.