When they had climbed until Fatty thought they would bump into the Celestial Gates at any moment, the plane gave a strange heave, changed direction and swept downward in a long incline. Fatty was sick. He leaned over the side, and was very sick indeed. And presently he turned his heavy head to Eddie, and said in a hopeless tone, “I want to get out. Tell him I want to walk the rest of the way. I feel very bad. Just ask him to let me out.”
“Out where?” demanded Eddie. “Do you want to get out up here? Why, man, we are about a mile up. We can’t land here!”
Ernest glanced at the boy, and fortunately the bothersome air currents seemed to subside. The plane sailed like a feather, smooth as a swallow. Fatty breathed a sigh of relief.
Just before they were able to make out the distant buildings of Louisville, Ernest asked, “Want me to loop the loop?”
“Oh do!” cried Eddie.
“No, no, no!” yelled Fatty.
“Why, what ails you?” said Eddie.
“It’s dangerous,” said the shaking fat boy. “I don’t want to see him break his machine. He must have paid a lot for it.”
But with a roar from the engine over they went. Once, twice, three times, and then sailed on as though nothing had happened.
When they landed at the Field at Camp Taylor, Ernest said: