rom the flying-field were running toward him, yelling.
He grinned at the foolish sight they made with their legs and arms
strewn about in the air as they galloped over the rough ground.
Lieutenant Haviland came up, panting: "All right, o' man? Good!" He
seized Carl's hand and wrung it. Carl knew that he had a new friend.

Three reporters poured questions on him. How far had he flown? Was
this really his first ascent by himself? What were his sensations? How
had his motor stopped? Was it true he was a mining engineer, a wealthy
motorist?

Hank Odell, the shy, eagle-nosed Yankee, running up as jerkily as a
cow in a plowed field, silently patted Carl on the shoulder and began
to examine the fractured landing-wheel. At last the instructor, M.
Carmeau.

Carl had awaited M. Carmeau's praise as the crown of his long flight.
But Carmeau pulled his beard, opened his mouth once or twice, then
shrieked: "What the davil you t'ink you are? A millionaire that we
build machines for you to smash them? I tole you to fly t'ree time
around--you fly to Algiers an' back--you t'ink you are another Farman
brother--you are a damn fool! Suppose your motor he stop while you fly
over San Mateo? Where you land? In a well? In a chimney? _Hein?_ You
know naut'ing yet. Next time you do what I tal' you. _Zut!_ That was a
flight, a flight, you make a flight, that was fine, fine, you make the
heart to swell. But nex' time you break the chassis and keel yourself,
_nom d'un tonnerre_, I scol' you!"

Carl was humble. But the _Courier_ reporter spread upon the front page
the story of "Marvelous first flight by Bagby student," and predicted
that a new Curtiss was coming out of California. Under a half-tone ran
the caption, "Ericson, the New Hawk of the Birdmen."

The camp promptly nicknamed him "Hawk." They used it for plaguing him
at first, but it survived as an expression of fondness--Hawk Ericson,
the cheeriest man in the school, and the coolest flier.

CHAPTER XIX

Not all their days were spent in work. There were mornings when the
wind would not permit an ascent and when there was nothing to do in
the workshop. They sat about the lunch-wagon wrangling endlessly, or,
like Carl and Forrest Haviland, wandered through fields which were all
one flame with poppies.

Lieutenant Haviland had given up trying to feel comfortable with the
naval ensign student, who was one of the solemn worthies who clear
their throats before speaking, and then sp