He was crowding into a few precious minutes all the pent emotions of his dearest dreams.

He was getting the "feel" of the controls, putting his theoretical learning to the test, finding just how much and how little it took to guide, to climb, to dip.

Bland Halliday was a good flyer, and he was doing his best, showing off his skill before Johnny.
He shut off the motor for a minute and volplaned.

"Great way to see the country!" he shouted, and climbed back in an easy spiral.
Johnny looked down.

They were still within the lines of the Rolling R range, he could tell by a certain red hill that, from that height, looked small and insignificant, but red still and perfect in its contour.