“Can’t we go down, fix her up and try again?” asked the stout lad.
“No use, Chunky,” declared the tall youth. “It will take several days to put in a new cylinder. No, we’ve got to give up. But we ought to be satisfied with the prize we won.”
They were not, however; in fact human nature never is, and Jerry and his chums were no different from other lads. As they began falling downward they could hear from below murmurs of fear, for the great crowd thought the motorship was wrecked.
“Throw in plenty of gas!” called Jerry to his chums, and a moment later the descent of the craft was checked as the lifting vapor rushed into the bag. Then she floated lazily in the air, and, in a few minutes, to reassure the watching, anxious throng, Jerry sent her about in dips and circles, to show that they had her under full control.
A cheer greeted this evidence of skill in aeronautics, and then, there being no necessity for descending farther the boys remained there to watch from that vantage point the other machines climbing upward.
The big Wright passed close by them, the two occupants calling to know what the matter was.
“Broken cylinder,” answered Jerry.
“Too bad, old man!” came the sympathetic hail, and then the biplane continued to poke her nose toward the upper regions.
In turn a Bleriot monoplane, a Curtiss biplane, a “Baby” Wright, a Santos Dumont, and a Farman shot upward, while our heroes had to look on mournfully, being out of the race.