Jonathan circled slowly over the Far Cliffs, watching. This rough young Fletcher

Gull was very nearly a perfect flight-student. He was strong and light and quick in

the air, but far and away more important, he had a blazing drive to learn to fly.

Here he came this minute, a blurred gray shape roaring out of a dive, flashing one

hundred fifty miles per hour past his instructor. He pulled abruptly into another try

at a sixteen point vertical slow roll, calling the points out loud.

"...eight... nine... ten... see-Jonathan-l'm-running-out-of airspeed.. eleven... I-want-

good-sharp-stops-like yours... twelve... but-blast-it-I just-can't-make... - thirteen...

these last-three-points...without... fourtee ...aaakk!"

Fletcher's whipstall at the top was all the worse for his rage and fury at failing. He

fell backward, tumbled, slammed savagely into an inverted spin, and recovered at

last, panting, a hundred feet below his instructor's level.

"You're wasting your time with me, Jonathan! I'm too dumb! I'm too stupid! I try and

try, but I'll never get it!"

Jonathan Seagull looked down at him and nodded. "You'll never get it for sure as

long as you make that pull up so hard. Fletcher, you lost forty miles an hour in the

entry! You have to be smooth! Firm but smooth, remember?"

He dropped down to the level of the younger gull. "Let's try it together now, in

formation. And pay attention to that pull up. It's a smooth, easy entry."

eng_03_01.mp3