The cigarette was not burning, though Johnny had made a hasty dab at it with a lighted match.

The other eye was as coldly critical as was humanly possible when the whole heart of Johnny was swelling with ecstasy.

His head was tilted a little, his hands were on his hips except when he used them to push and test and try some reachable part.
Johnny thrust out a foot and gently kicked the flattened tire on one wheel.

"Umh-humh," he muttered to himself.

"Flat tire." Never in his life had Johnny enjoyed the privilege of kicking a wheel on the landing gear of an airplane, but you would have thought that this was his business, and that it bored him intensely to do so.