Harry could see the airman was trying some maneuver, and as he looked,
the plane rose nose first from the ground, almost perpendicularly
and then took an odd nose-dive head into the ground. The plane was
not many feet from the earth when it dived, but was far enough up to
come to the ground with a bad crash. Harry could see a dash of
white spray in the sunlight as the gasoline splashed upward at the
moment of the smash. The monoplane heeled over and the pilot went
out of sight behind the wreckage. The graceful white tail stood
high in air.

Running as fast as he could, Harry got to the scene of the accident
before the airman had risen from the ground. The strap which had
held him into his seat had burst, and he had suffered a nasty spill.
Investigation showed, however, that he was but little the worse,
save for the shock and the fright. He was as pale as a sheet.
Harry helped him to his feet and assisted him to take stock of his
injuries. By the time they had discovered that no bones were broken
and the bruises the young fellow had sustained were quite superficial,
Parks, the head instructor, dashed up in a motor car. As he leaped
out beside the wrecked plane, there was a frown on his face. "Another
smash?" he queried.

Harry learned later that the young airman had already smashed up two
machines that week before demolishing the old monoplane.

"What was wrong this time?" Parks spoke sharply.

Without hesitation the young pilot answered: "I must have hitched
the old girl up wrong, some way. This friend here," nodding toward