There was a crash as it struck the ground in a cloud of dust.
With a leap Kennedy had cleared the fence and was running toward Norton. Two men from the judge's stand were ahead of us, but except for them we were the first to reach him. The men were tearing frantically at the tangled framework, trying to lift it off Norton, who lay pale and motionless, pinned under it. The machine was not so badly damaged, after all, but that together we could lift it bodily off him.
A doctor ran out from the crowd and hastily put his ear to Norton's chest. No one spoke, but we all scanned the doctor's face anxiously.
“Just stunned—he'll be all right in a moment. Get some water,” he said.
Kennedy pulled my arm. “Look at the gyroscope dynamo,” he whispered.
I looked. Like the other two which we had seen, it also was a wreck. The insulation was burned off the wires, the wires were fused together, and the storage-battery looked as if it had been burned out.
A flicker of the eyelid and Norton seemed to regain some degree of consciousness. He was living over again the ages that had passed during the seconds of his terrible fall.
“Will they never stop? Oh, those sparks, those sparks! I can't disconnect it. Sparks, more sparks—will they never—” So he rambled on. It was fearsome to hear him.
But Kennedy was now sure that Norton was safe and in good hands, and he hurried back in the direction of the grand stand. I followed. Flying was over for that day, and the people were filing slowly out toward the railroad station where the special trains were waiting. We stopped at the wireless station for a moment.
“Is it true that Norton will recover?” inquired the operator.