You can't buy a Cadillac for the same price as a Ford."
He stared at me for a moment, then he shrugged his shoulders.
"It's your money, Jonas."
I watched him walk back to the General.
He might be a great aeronautical engineer, but he was too anxious ever to become a good salesman.
I turned to the mechanic.
"Ready?"
"Ready when you are, Mr. Cord."
"O.K.," I said, starting to climb up to the cockpit.
I felt a hand tugging at my leg.
I looked down. "Mind if I come along for the ride?" It was the lieutenant colonel.
"Not at all," I said.
"Hop in."
"Thanks.
By the way, I didn't get your name."
"Jonas Cord," I said.
"Roger Forrester," he answered, holding out his hand.
I should have guessed it the minute I heard his name, but I didn't tie it up until now.
Roger Forrester – one of the original aces of the Lafayette Escadrille. Twenty-two German planes to his credit.
He'd been one of my heroes when I was a kid.
"I've heard about you," I said.
His smile changed into a grin. "I've heard quite a bit about you."
We both laughed and I felt better.
I pulled on his hand and he came up on the wing beside me.
He looked into the cockpit, then back at me.
"No parachute?"
"Never use 'em," I said. "Make me nervous.
Psychological. Indicates a lack of confidence." He laughed. "I can get one for you if you like."
He laughed again. "To hell with it."
About thirty miles out over the ocean, I put her through all the tricks in the book and then some only the CA-4 could do, and he didn't bat an eyelash.
For a clincher, I took her all the way up in a vertical climb until, at fourteen thousand feet, she hung in the sky like a fly dancing on the tip of a needle.
Then I let her fall off on a dead stick into a tailspin that whipped the air-speed indicator up close to the five hundred mark.
When we got down to about fifteen hundred feet, I took both hands off the stick and tapped him on the shoulder.
His head whipped around so fast it almost fell off his neck.
I laughed.
"She's all yours, Colonel!" I shouted.
We were down to twelve hundred feet by the time he turned around; eight hundred feet by the time he had the spin under control; six hundred feet before he had her in a straight dive; and four hundred feet before he could pull back on the stick. I felt her shudder and tremble under me and a shrill scream came from her wings, like a dame getting her cherry copped.
The G pinned me back in my seat, choking the air back into my throat and forcing the big bubbles right up into my eyes. Suddenly, the pressure lifted. We were less than twenty-five feet off the water when we started to climb.
Forrester looked back at me.
"I haven't been this scared since I soloed back in fifteen," he yelled, grinning. "How did you know she wouldn't lose her wings in a dive like that?" "Who knew?" I retorted.
"But this was as good a time as any to find out!"
He laughed. I saw his hand reach forward and knock on the instrument panel.
"What a plane.
Like you said, she sure does fly!"
"Don't tell me. Tell that old coot back there."
A shadow fell across his face.
"I'll try. But I don't know if I can do much good.
It's all yours," he said, raising his hands. "You take her back in now."
I could see Morrissey and the soldiers standing on the field, watching us through field glasses as we came in.
I put her into a wide turn and tapped Forrester on the shoulder.