This book is as nutty as a fruitcake and just as good. It is tough, boisterous, fractures the rules of grammar, uses words not permitted in the drawing room, has color, life and authenticity to a time that has passed. Slats hailed from Mississippi, moved to Texas when he was fifteen, did farm work for 18 hours a day until he found short cuts that put an end to farming. Then he went into railroading, was constantly in dutch, but always managed to scrape through. He was a barnstormer, getting $5 for five minutes flying passengers. He built the first plane in Texas, a crate with wings of wood and silk, linen or cotton, and a right wing that always dripped and had to be propped up (hence the title of the book). But with it he got the first C.A.A. license issued in the state. He smashed up himself and his planes, in a game played against death, but he scrambled through. At 63 he's still flying, dusting crops- sorta dull! No more diving at land fields, going for a loop and landing out of a barrel roll. No more smuggling hooch and Chinamen and ammunition across the Rio, no more hi-jacking, nothing left to talk about. Texans-and all who like reading about pioneering in the air will lap it up. Adventure in the vernacular.