The Comet was soon resting on the ground, ready hands catching hold of the retaining ropes and making them fast to stakes driven into the earth for that purpose, while bags of sand, that had been detached when the ascent was made, were again fastened on to make up for the weight of the travelers, who alighted amid the cheers of the throng.
“Well, ye done it, all right,” cried an old man, as he tried to shake hands with Mr. Glassford, the boys and Professor Snodgrass all at the same time. “Land o’ Goshen, but ye done it! I never thought ye would.”
“Yes, we made a fairly successful flight,” replied Mr. Glassford. “But for a slight accident we would have stayed up much longer.”
“An accident!” exclaimed a tall youth, stepping forward. “Tell me about it, please. I’m a reporter from the Boston Globe, sent out here to get an account of this.”
“One of the propeller transmission chains broke,” said Mr. Glassford, and he proceeded to explain to the newspaper man what had happened.
Meanwhile, the motor boys were surrounded by an admiring throng. Some of their young acquaintances clearly regarded them as heroes of the very highest type. The boys’ parents were amid the throng, but as soon as they learned that everything had gone off comparatively safely, they departed, for the crowd was increasing all the while.
Andy Rush pushed his way through the press of people and called to Jerry:
“Did any of the shot hit you?”
“Shot? Then some one was firing at us!” exclaimed Jerry. “Who was it, Andy?”