Mr. Chanute took his position forward of the boat. Bill Avery, with hatchet, stood at the stern to chop the release rope. Paul, smiling and looking victorious, clearly very happy, climbed into his boat and took his position, as proud as a captain on his bridge. He gripped the parallel bars and was ready for his journey.

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Are you ready? cried the boss.

Ready, answered Paul.

A pause, agonizingly long, ensued as we waited for the order, Let her go! But the order did not come.

Wait a minute, said Chanute quietly, coming up close to the boat. I am not willing to take the chance of causing this man’s death, he said solemnly. It’s on my conscience that this may be a very foolhardy thing we’re about to do. Paul, I ask you again in the presence of these men, your friends, tell me the truth-have you once before flown such a boat? Standing as possibly you do at the very gate of eternity, do you say you know you are taking no risk?

The resolute sailor solemnly reaffirmed that once before he had flown such a boat without mishap, and he knew he was taking no risk.

Very well, then-back to stations! ordered the boss.

Paul took a new grip on his handlebars. Another, longer pause.

I still am not satisfied, Mr. Chanute said, beads of sweat standing on his brow. Paul, I am thinking of your wife, who may become widowed in a moment-of the five little Pauls who may be made fatherless by a fatal error. I think it is only fair to your family, instead of risking your neck at first, to make our trial flight with sand ballast. So you climb out and we will see if the craft will soar.

The sailor got out of his dream boat, dejected, feeling that he had lost the chance of his life. He must have realized his career as a flier was finished. A heavy sack of sand was put in the catwalk at the steering spot. Again all was ready.

Cast off! called Mr. Chanute. Avery cut the rope. More pause-the boat stuck fast to its ways! The men gave it a push down onto the steeply sloping track where it began to slide, getting faster as it went. At the end of the trackage it plunged off into space heavily, went into a nose dive and crashed 100 feet below its starting place. Had Paul been in the structure he probably would have been killed. His myth of a solo flight up and down that lonely valley in Kentucky was exploded.

Thank God that’s over! muttered the chief, fairly wilted by his ordeal. What if we had taken a chance!

The poor sailor stood aside, discredited, crushed, but no one knew if he had become disillusioned. His bright dream was over notwithstanding. All knew him to be prone to fantasy, but understanding the intensity of his hallucination we accorded him sympathy and kindness. All respected a man who believed his dream so fully that he would face death to prove it was true.

I now had my newspaper story, and it would probably be exclusive. I requested Chanute to name the Tribune’s share of our living expenses. He would not hear of it.

You were my guest, he said, I told you that at your arrival; the simple hospitality I was able to offer gave me pleasure.

This embarrassed me very much as I had been self-invited. I tried to argue the point, saying if I had realized I could not do my part, I would not have had the face to inflict myself on his generosity for a three-week visit.

But you’re overlooking the pleasure I had in your company, he countered.

But the Tribune always insists on paying its own way in everything, I explained, it’s stiff-necked about accepting favors. I will be expected to turn in my expense account for $5 or $10 a day, and anything more would be paid without question.

Be that as it may, replied the host with positiveness, I do not charge for my hospitality, and the Chicago Tribune cannot fix the code of my social demeanor. Please tell your `Uncle Joe Medill,’ as you speak of him, that your agreeable conduct with us made your presence most welcome.

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