Both boys fell to work with a will, rescued the escaping oranges, and tucked them back in their owner's basket. Then, with her grateful thanks ringing in their ears, they hurried on once more.
After they had gone a few steps, Paul Ross observed:
"Bob, I've seen that fellow before. That was Pete Deveaux. He used to be an Air Mail pilot on the same run as my brother John, but was discharged for drunkenness. Since that he has blamed John, and has written him several threatening letters, but is too cowardly to face him."
By this time they had reached the West 137th Street station of the suburban railroad which runs between the metropolis and various shore towns along the picturesque Hudson. They were just in time to catch a train, and found a comfortable seat in a rear coach. Then Paul brought forth the newspaper he had purchased. What they sought was found on the very first page, prominently displayed under a black-faced heading.
"Read it aloud, Paul," suggested Bob, and his friend proceeded to do so. The article was to the effect that the Aero Club of America, in conjunction with eminent aviation associations of the kind in Europe and Asia, had planned to stimulate interest in flying by holding an aircraft race around the world, which would start on the morning of July 4th. All contestants must be at least twenty-one years of age, and furnish an entrance fee of two hundred dollars. They might use any type of aircraft they chose, and could carry as many assistants as they wished, even utilizing trains or steamships, if not less than three-fourths of their journey were made by air; and they must stop at least once in each of four continents, and cross the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. Aside from these provisions, the selection of route was left entirely to each contestant. Then followed an imposing list of names of well-known flyers who, it was said, had signified their intention of competing. The article wound up with the statement that prizes aggregating a million dollars would be offered the winners.
"One million dollars!" exclaimed Bob Giddings. "Paul, old man, you'd better go in for this!"
Paul Ross's eyes sparkled, but the next moment he laughed and shook his head. "I surely would like to," said he, "but there are just three little things in the way of it."
"I suppose you need a machine for one thing?"
"Yes—and you must admit that's a good-sized item. Second, I need two hundred dollars to enter—something I don't happen to have, and something I know mother can't spare in such a hazard. Third, I need three years added to my age in order to be eligible."
"It does look rather hopeless for you, that's a fact," admitted Bob. "That second handicap might be overcome with my father's help, but the other two are real obstacles."