As if by common consent the eyes of nearly every person in the crowd were turned toward the motor boys. Their craft which had been put through her paces that day, travelling on the water as well as through the air—which had come to a halt while nearly a mile high and had floated as easily as a feather—that craft—the Comet seemed to offer a solution of the problem. The boys felt it themselves, and perhaps only their modesty had prevented them from offering their services before.
“Say!” cried the man who seemed to have taken charge of matters, “I guess it’s up to you boys! Will you go to the rescue?”
He addressed himself to Jerry. The tall lad glanced at his companions. They nodded their heads in assent. As for Professor Snodgrass there was an eager look on his face.
“Go! Go!” he whispered to Jerry. “It’s the very chance I need to get my singing fish.”
Jerry hesitated but a moment longer.
“Very well,” he answered, “we’ll go.”
“Good!” cried the man who had taken the initiative. Later the boys learned that he was Mr. Durkin, manager of the meet. “That’s the way to talk, boys! Here we have a whole lot of aircraft, and only one really fit for practical work. Now, then, how about gasolene? Have you enough for a big trip? There’s no telling how long you may be gone. Those upper-air hurricanes sometimes last for a week.”
“We’ll need to refill our gasolene tanks,” said Jerry.
“Then we’ll attend to that part for you,” said Mr. Durkin. “There are hundreds of gallons of the stuff here on the grounds. You look over your motor and machinery. It won’t do to have it break down. How about provisions?”
“Enough for a month!” cried Bob, and when his chums laughed the crowd wondered why. But for once Bob had the advantage, and he knew it. Only for the stocking of the craft with a big supply of food would it be possible to go on a long trip. And had it not already been aboard there would have been a long delay.