IN THE NICK OF TIME.
Excitement had reached its topmost pitch on the aviation field. It was
but a few minutes to starting time for the great contest, and already
four young aviators had their winged craft in line before the judge's
stand.
Engines were belching clouds of acrid blue smoke heavily impregnated with
oily, smelling fumes. The roar of motors shook the air. Folks in the
grandstand and on the crowded lawns excitedly pointed out to one another
the different machines, all of which bore large numbers.
Excited officials, red-faced and perspiring, bustled about importantly,
while from the top of the judge's stand a portly man bellowed occasional
announcements through a megaphone.
Suddenly he made an announcement that caused a hum of interest.
"Machine number seven--mach-ine num-ber sev-en! Fanning Harding, owner,
has withdrawn from the race," he announced.
A buzz of comment went through the crowd. Jess, Jimsy and Hal Homer,
standing in a group by the empty Prescott hangar, exchanged astonished
glances as they heard the news. What did that mean? Fanning had been
swaggering about, boasting of his wonderful aeroplane, and now it
appeared at the eleventh hour he had decided not to enter it.
"Must have had an accident," opined Jimsy.
"Maybe he gave it one of those pleasant looks of his," suggested Jess.
"Wherever can Peggy be," exclaimed the girl the next minute; "she's been
gone for more than an hour. I do hope nothing has happened to her."
"Not likely," rejoined Jimsy, although he looked a little troubled over
the non-appearance of the Golden Butterfly.
"The police said they had a dragnet out in every part of the vicinity,"
volunteered Hal Homer, who had returned only a few minutes before from
the station house.
Bang!
A bomb had been shot skyward and now exploded in a cloud of yellow smoke.
"Three minutes to starting time," cried Hal Homer anxiously; "where can
Miss Prescott be?"
"Look!" cried Jess suddenly, dancing about. "Oh, Glory! Here she comes!"
Far off against the sky a speck was visible. Rushing toward them at
tremendous speed it swiftly grew larger. The crowd saw it now and great
excitement prevailed. The word flew about that the machine was the
missing Number Six. Would it arrive in time to participate in the start
and thus qualify? This was the question on every lip.
Hal Homer jumped into the auto and sped over to the judge's stand.
"Can't you delay the start for five minutes?" he begged.
"Impossible," was the reply.
"But that aeroplane, Number Six, has been delayed by some accident. If
you start the race on time it may not arrive in time to take part."
"Can't be helped. Young Prescott--that's the name of the owner, isn't
it?--shouldn't have gone off on a cross country tryout."
Back to the hangar sped Hal, where Jess and Jimsy, almost beside
themselves with excitement, were watching the homing aeroplane.
"She'll be on time," cried Jimsy as the graceful ship swept over the
distant confines of the course and came thundering down toward the
starting point.
A great cheer swept skywards as the aeroplane came on.
"She'll make it."
"She won't."
"Where has the thing been?"
"Why is it so late?"
These and a hundred other questions and remarks went from mouth to mouth
all through the big crowd.
"It's all off," groaned Jimsy suddenly.
He had seen the signal corps man, whose duty it was to fire the bombs,
outstretching himself on the ground awaiting the signal to touch off the
starting sign.
But even as Jimsy spoke, the Golden Butterfly made a swift turn and, amid
a roar from the crowd, shot whirring past the grandstand and alighted in
front of the stand on the starting line.
Hardly had the wheels touched the ground before the judge in charge of
the track raised his hand. A flag fell and the signal corps man jerked
his arm back, firing the bomb that announced the start.
B-o-o-o-o-m!
As the detonation died out the aeroplanes shot forward, rising into the
still air almost in a body, like a flock of birds. It was a spectacle
never to be forgotten, and the crowd appreciated it to the full.
But up in the grandstand, in inconspicuous places, sat three persons who
did not look as well pleased as those about them.
"So the girl is going to take a chance," muttered Fanning Harding; "well,
so much the worse for her. If she wins I'll put in a protest and compel
her to unmask."
"Won't that Prescott and Bancroft bunch be astonished when they find out
that we are on to their little game," chuckled Jukes Dade; "it'll be as
good as a play."
"That's what it will," grinned Gid.
"They'll find out that they can't humiliate me and not suffer for it,"
grated out Fanning.
"Wonder where that girl went to on her tryout spin?" inquired Dade.
"It doesn't make much difference where, but she certainly came back with
a grandstand play," rejoined Gid.
"Well, if she wins the race it will be our turn," Fanning assured him.
They then turned their attention to the contest, two laps of which had
been made while they were talking.
Number One, a small white Bleriot type of monoplane, seemed to be making
the pace for the rest, and word flew about that it had gained half a lap
on Number Four, its nearest competitor so far.
"But it will be a long contest," said the wiseacres in the crowd, "and
accidents may happen at any time."
On the fourth lap Number One was seen to descend over by the hangars.
Something had gone wrong with its lubricating valve. By the time the
difficulty was adjusted it was hopelessly out of the race. Number Three
was the next to drop out. This machine was driven by one of the high
school lads, and his contingent of rooters in the grandstand set up a
woeful noise as he dropped to earth in the middle of the course. A broken
stay had made it dangerous for him to remain longer in the air.
This left number Six, the Prescott machine, Numbers Two, Four and Five
still in the air.
"Number Six has gained a lap on Number Five!" went up the cry presently
as Number Five, so far the leader, was seen to lose speed on the
fifteenth lap.
The Golden Butterfly was in truth doing magnificently, but try as her
operator would it did not seem possible to shake off Number Five, another
high school boy's machine, which clung persistently to its stern. Number
Four alighted for more gasolene on the twentieth lap and lost a round of
the course thereby. A few seconds later Number Two was also forced to
descend with heated cylinders. This practically left the race between
Number Five and the Golden Butterfly. Round and round they tore, neither
of them gaining or losing a foot apparently. The thunder of their engines
grew deafeningly monotonous and the crowds watched them as if hypnotized
by the whirring aerial monsters.
All at once, though, a mighty roar proclaimed that something was
happening, and gazing down toward the further end of the track it could
be seen that Number Six, the Golden Butterfly, had made a daring attempt
to gain on the other machine, and had succeeded.
So close did the two aeroplanes edge to the end pylon in the effort to
secure the inside plane that for an instant it looked as if a crash must
result.
A thunder of cheers greeted the Golden Butterfly as she swept by the
grandstand on the next lap.
"That girl can drive all right," grudgingly admitted Fanning Harding.
"Yes, and she's pretty as a picture, too," put in Gid Gibbons; "guess you
were stuck on her once, weren't you, Fan?"
"Oh, shut up," growled Fanning angrily. "It makes no difference to you,
does it?"
The aeroplanes had been racing for an hour now, and neither showed any
signs of slacking speed. On the contrary, as they "warmed up," they
seemed to go the quicker. All at once an incident occurred which brought
the crowd to its feet yelling and cheering as if wild.
The driver of Number Five, as the two machines passed the grandstand, had
made a deliberate attempt to prevent the Golden Butterfly overhauling him
by jamming his aeroplane over toward a pylon and directly in front of the
Butterfly. For an instant it looked as if a crash must be inevitable, but
just as the spectators were beginning to turn pale and the more timid to
hide their eyes, the Butterfly was seen to make a graceful dip and dive
clean under the other aeroplane. It was a magnificent bit of aerial
driving, and the crowd appreciated it to the full. A roar and a shout
went up, to which the driver of Number Six responded with a wave of a
gloved hand.
Ten minutes later Number Five, two laps behind, and with a leaking
radiator, dropped out of the race, leaving the Golden Butterfly the
winner. Fanning Harding was white as a sheet as he saw an official with a
black and white checkered flag step out into the field. This was the
signal to the Golden Butterfly, which was still in the air, that the race
was over.
As the Prescott aeroplane dropped to earth in front of the grandstand
amid rapturous plaudits, the son of the Sandy Bay banker deliberately
arose and made his way toward the judges' stand, to which Hal Homer and
the Bancrofts, the core of a shouting, yelling mob of enthusiasts, were
already conducting the daring driver of Number Six.
Special policemen made a path for the aviator and his friends, while
cries of:
"Take off your helmet!"
"We want to see you!"
"What's the matter with Number Six?" and a hundred other cries arose.
But the driver of Number Six did not respond, and with his helmet still
on his head was conducted before the judges to receive their
congratulations. The helmet was still in place when Fanning Harding came
shoving through the crowd and finally reached the little group.
"As a competitor I demand that Number Six take off his helmet!" he cried.
The judges turned to him in astonishment.
"This is most unseemly, sir," said one of them; "no doubt in good time
Mr. Prescott will take off his helmet."
"Oh, no, he won't," shouted Fanning, at whom all the group was now
gazing. "He won't, I tell you, and for a good reason, too. _That's not
Roy Prescott at all, but his sister Peggy._"
But the words had not left his lips before Jimsy, with a quick motion,
jerked off the aviator's helmet and disclosed the handsome, perspiring
features of Roy himself.
In the few minutes he had had, Roy had found time briefly to explain how
he and his sister had changed garments.
"Well, I guess that settles that question," cried Jimsy triumphantly, as
a mighty shout went up.
"It certainly does," said one of the officials. "Where is that young
scamp? Officer, find the young man who made that accusation and bring him
here to explain himself."
But the disgruntled Fanning had dived off into the crowd the instant he
saw into what a tremendous blunder he had fallen. And although a strict
search was made for him he was not to be found.