AN ATTACK IN THE AIR.
"B-o-o-m!"
The sound of a gun crashed out as the auto sped through the gates of the
aviation field and rapidly skimmed across to where the aëroplanes had
been parked.
"Just in time!" cried Peggy; "that's the five-minute warning gun."
By this time the grandstand was well filled and a band was playing
lively airs. At the starting line three of the Kelly aëroplanes were
gathered ready for the signal for the start of the altitude flight. The
instant the car came to a standstill Jimsy was out and in a jiffy had
the new spark plug adjusted. There was no time to test it, but he felt
pretty confident that it would work all right.
"All ready!" shouted the official in charge of the starting
arrangements.
"Ready!" rejoined Jimsy heartily, as he adjusted his leather helmet and
Jake and Roy started the engine.
Kelly, whose back had been turned while he talked to some of his troup,
faced round at the sound of the boy's voice.
"What, you here!" he choked out, his face purple.
"Yes; do you know any reason why I shouldn't be?" asked Jimsy, with
meaning emphasis.
Under the lad's direct gaze Kelly's eyes fell. He couldn't face the lad,
but turned away.
"There, if that isn't proof of his guilt I'd like to know what is,"
declared Jimsy to Roy.
"But the rascal covered up his tracks so cleverly that we can't prove
anything on him," muttered Roy disgustedly.
At the same instant the starting bomb boomed out. The crowd yelled, and
the drummer of the band pounded his instrument furiously. Above the
uproar sounded the sharp, crackerlike report of the motors. As more
power was applied they roared like batteries of Gatling guns.
Into the air shot one of them, a black biplane. It was followed by the
others, two monoplanes and a triplane. Jimsy ascended last, but as this
was not a race, but a cloud-climbing contest, he was in no hurry. He was
anxious to see what the other air craft could do.
Up they climbed, ascending the aërial stairway, while the crowd below
stared up, at the risk of stiff necks in the immediate future.
Jimsy chose spiraling as his method of rising. But the others went
upward in curious zigzags. This was because their machines were not
equipped with the stability device, and they could not attempt the same
tactics. Before long Jimsy was high above the others. From below he
appeared a mere dot in the blue. But still he flew on.
Once he glanced at his barograph. It showed he had ascended 5,000
feet. It was higher than the boy had ever been before, but he kept
perseveringly on.
It was cold up there in the regions of the upper air, and Jimsy found
himself wishing he had put on a sweater.
"It's too long a drop to go down and get one," he remarked to himself,
with grim humor.
Beneath him he could see the other aëroplanes; but the black one was the
only one that appeared to be a serious rival. The rest did not seem to
be trying very hard to reach a superlative height. The black machine,
however, was steadily rising. After a while Jimsy could see the face of
its occupant. It was the Cuban, Le Roy.
"Now, what's he trying to do, I wonder?" thought Jimsy, as the black
biplane rose to the same level as himself and appeared to be going
through some odd maneuvering.
"That's mighty funny," mused the boy, watching his rival; "I can't make
out what he's up to."
Indeed the black biplane was behaving queerly. Now it would swoop toward
Jimsy and then would dart, only to return. Suddenly it came driving
straight at him.
It was then that Jimsy suddenly realized what his rival was trying to
do. To use a slangy but expressive phrase, Le Roy, the veteran aviator,
was trying to rattle the boy.
"So that's his game, is it," thought Jimsy; "well, I'll give him a
surprise."
Manipulating his spark and gas levers the boy gave his graceful red
craft full power. The Dragon shot sharply upward, crossing Le Roy's
machine about twenty feet above its upper plane. Jimsy laughed aloud at
the astonished expression on the man's face as he skimmed above him.
"I reckon he'll think that I do know something about driving an
aëroplane, after all," he chuckled as he rose till his barograph
recorded 6,000 feet.
Beneath him he could see Le Roy starting to descend. Something appeared
to be wrong with the black biplane's motor. It acted sluggishly.
"Well, as he's going down I guess I will, too," said Jimsy to himself;
"6,000 feet is by no means a record, but it's high enough for me."
Suddenly he was plunged into what appeared to be a wet and chilly fog.
In reality it was a cloud that had drifted in on him. It grew suddenly
cold with an almost frosty chill. The moisture of the cloud drenched him
to the skin. The lad shivered and his teeth chattered, but he kept
pluckily to his task.
Before long he emerged into the sunlight once more. The crowd which had
thrilled when the young aviator vanished into the vapor set up a yell
when he reappeared. But at the height he was Jimsy, of course, did not
hear it.
But as he dropped lower the shouts and cheers became plainly audible.
The lad waved his hand in acknowledgment. Then, as he neared the ground,
he put his machine through a series of graceful evolutions that set the
crowd wild.
"The altitude flight is won by Number Four," announced the officials
after they had examined the barograph; "with a height of 6,000 feet.
Number Four is Mr. James Bancroft."
"Gee; that sounds real dignified," laughed Jimsy; "it's a treat to be
treated with becoming dignity once in a while."
The next flight was a race six times round the course. This was won
by one of the Kelly flyers. Then came an endurance contest which Roy
captured handily and some exhibition flying in which Bess did some
clever work and was delighted to find herself a winner.
It was soon after this that the gun was fired as a note of warning that
the big race was about to begin.
Peggy's _Golden Butterfly_ and Roy's entry, the _Red Dragon_, borrowed
for this race because the biplane was too heavy and clumsy for such
fast work, were wheeled to the starting line. Already three of Kelly's
machines were there, among them being that of Señora Le Roy, or, as she
was billed, the Cuban Skylark, the Only Woman Flyer in the World. It
appeared now that she had small claim to the title. The crowd set up
a cheer for her as she took her seat in a neat-looking monoplane of
the Bleriot type.
But when Peggy's dapper figure, smartly attired in her aviation costume,
appeared a still louder shout went up.
Kelly scowled blackly. He stepped up to his flyers.
"You've got to win this race or get fired," he snarled.