the Lady Principal (that
was it, not Lady President) talked very high brow. She asked me what I
thought of this "terrible lower class unrest." Told her I was a
socialist and she never batted an eye--of course an aviator is
permitted to be a nut. Wonder if I am a good socialist as a matter of
fact, I do know that most governments, maybe all, permit most children
to never have a chance, start them out by choking them with dirt and
T.B. germs, but how can we make international solidarity seem
practical to the dub average voters, _how_!

Letter from Gertie to-night, forwarded here. She seems sort of bored
in Joralemon, but is working hard with Village Improvement Committee
of woman's club for rest room for farmers' wives, also getting up P.E.
Sunday school picnic. Be good for Istra if she did common nice things
like that, since she won't really get busy with her painting, but how
she'd hate me for suggesting that she be what she calls "burjoice."
Guess Gertie is finding herself. Hope yours truly but sleepy is
finding himself too. How I love my little bed!

CHAPTER XXIII

(THE DIARY OF MR. ERICSON, CONTINUED.--EDITOR)

_AUGUST 20_, (_1911, as before_): Big Chicago meet over. They sure did
show us a good time. Never saw better meet. Won finals in duration
to-day. Also am second in altitude, but nix on the altitude again, I'm
pretty poor at it. I'm no Lincoln Beachey! Don't see how he breathes.
His 11,578 ft. was _some_ climb.

Tomorrow starts my biggest attempt, by far; biggest distance flight
ever tried in America, and rather niftier than even the European
Circuit and British Circuit that Beaumont has won.

To fly as follows: Chicago to St. Louis to Indianapolis to Columbus to
Washington to Baltimore to Philadelphia to Atlantic City to New York.
The New York Chronicle in company with papers along line gives prize
of $40,000. Ought to help bank account if win, in spite of big
expenses to undergo. Now have $30,000 stowed away, and have sent
mother $3,000.

To fly against my good old teacher M. Carmeau, and Tony Bean, Walter
MacMonnies, M. Beaufort the Frenchman, Tad Warren, Billy Witzer, Chick
Bannard, Aaron Solomons and other good men. Special NY Chronicle
reporter, fellow named Forbes, assigned to me, and he hangs around all
the time, sort of embarrassing (hurray, spelled it right, I guess) but
I'm getting used to the reporters.

Martin Dockerill has an ambition! He said to me to-day, "Say, Hawk, if
you w