Swiftly the time went by, until at last came the hour for the great hundred mile race. The immense grand stand was filled with an eager anxious throng, and thousands equally eager and anxious stood about the big field, well out of way of the air machines. The course of ten miles was marked by anchored balloons, painted white, which were easily visible across the wide valley where the meet took place.
Noddy Nixon had his machine out at the starting line. It had been patched up, and, as Ned had remarked the wheels seemed too big for it. In all there were seven starters besides the Comet, and contestants included the Winner, a triplane, an Antoinette, a Bleriot monoplane and Wright, Curtiss and Farman biplanes.
It was to be a “flying” start. That is the contestants would get in motion at the sound of a gun, would rise as best they could, and approach an imaginary line in the air, above the white balloon marking the beginning of the course. Then the race would be to the swiftest machine.
There was a last inspection of the engines and air craft, a hurried testing of the propellers, and then, in answer to a question from the secretary, the contestants said that they were ready.
Bang! went the pistol. The report was followed by a series of deafening explosions as the motors started. Our three heroes were among the first to get under way, and they quickly mounted to a good height. The others followed. All approached the first anchored balloon in a bunch and a moment later the race was on.
“Now for a long and steady grind,” said Bob, as he and Ned, oil cans in hand, went to the motor room. Jerry was in the steering tower.
“Look what’s coming!” cried Bob, pausing in the act of lubricating a bearing. “The Antoinette is going to pass us!”
“Let her,” answered Jerry easily. “He hasn’t enough gasolene to last out, I don’t believe, if she burns it up that way.”
“And here comes Noddy in the Winner,” added Ned.