At last came the fateful Saturday, the last Saturday in October, the day set for the kite races. Many of the boys had made new kites for the occasion and all had overhauled them. Secret practice flights had been made and the rivalry was keen. What was the wind going to be like? Would the day be fine? It was hinted that Tom had some special secret, but what it was no one knew, unless, perhaps, the Forecaster. The event had been quite widely advertised—had it not appeared in the Review!—and the neighborhood gathered as though to a country fair. The roped inclosure was full of people and the dimes which rattled into the dried gourd more than paid up the club's indebtedness for the wire and the shipment of the kites.
There were all kinds of races, races for speed, to see whose kite would reach a certain height the soonest; races for steadiness; races for altitude. Anton created great excitement by sending up one of the puppies in a basket attached to a parachute fastened to a kite which was released when he pulled a string. It was a big parachute and a small puppy, so that no one feared for the pup's safety.
Ross then came forward with his big kite. It could not be entered in the races, because all the kites for racing had been of standard size.
"What are those little balls?" one of the boys asked, pointing to bundles covered with paper and attached to a leading string, which were fastened at fifty-foot intervals to the leading wire.
"You'll see," said Ross, and up went the big kite. It flew steadily and well and when a couple of hundred yards above the ground, he made it fast to one of the stakes. Then, while every one watched, he gave the leading string a sharp tug, and then a succession of pulls, breaking loose each of the little bundles attached to the leading wire. And, as the people looked, first one and then another American flag burst out of its covering, the lowermost and largest bundle being a big Stars and Stripes that floated out gallantly above the kite-ground.
"Now," said Ross, turning to the Kite-Master, as the boys had begun to call Tom, "out with your secret! What is it?"
Tom turned to the Forecaster.
"Is it all right for to-day?" he asked.
The weather expert looked keenly at the sky, glanced at the weather-vane and the whirling anemometer, and nodded his head.
"I think so," he said. "The weather's a little gusty, but this is the time to try. Nothing venture, nothing have!"