Two men, one of them carrying a gun, were walking over the high road, a little way to the right, and probably two hundred yards from the aeroplane. They had stopped and were surveying the strange object overhead. One of them abruptly raised his weapon and the little faint blue puff showed he had used the machine as his target. Instead of a shotgun the fellow fired a rifle. It was impossible of course to hear the report, but the sudden appearance of a small white spot on the framework of the upper wing, showed where the bullet had nipped off a splinter. Strange that so many people cannot observe a curious object without yearning to shoot it.
Harvey looked around at Bohunkus, and by a nod and the expression of his face asked whether he wished to be set down that he might properly chastise the scamp. The colored youth shook his head. He had gone through enough in that line to satisfy him. Harvey shied off and speedily passed beyond range. The fellow did not try a second shot.
Thus far the weather had been ideal, but a disagreeable change threatened. The sun was hidden by clouds, which increased in density and number, and the air became so chilly that both shivered. Harvey headed for Chesterton, for it was evident that soon all pleasure in aerial sailing would be ended for the time.
The approach of the aeroplane roused the usual excitement in the little country town, and when Harvey descended in an open space near the collection of houses, half a hundred people rushed thither to greet and give him whatever help he needed. He aimed to make a graceful landing so as properly to impress the spectators, but he got another reminder of the astonishing sensitiveness of the aeroplane, which must be handled far differently from an automobile. He was not quick enough in shifting the lever and hit the ground with so violent a bump that Bohunkus, who was not expecting anything of the kind, was thrown headlong from his perch and landed in a sitting posture with so loud a grunt that the onlookers laughed.
“What’s de matter wid yo’?” he asked angrily; “dat’s de right way to come down in an airyplane. Hab yo’ any ’bjections?”
“It’s the way you land,” replied one of the men, “because you don’t know any better.”
Bohunkus would have been glad to make a scathing retort, but was unable to think of one. So he said in the way of reproof to his companion:
“De next time yo’s gwine to try to knock a hole fru de airth, let me know so I can jump.”
“It will do you as much good to jump afterward as before. It looks to me as if a storm is coming, Bunk, and we must get the machine under shelter.”
The pleasant feature about the situation was that the crowd which had gathered and continued to gather was a friendly one. No one spoke an ill-natured word and all were eager to help in every way possible.