“Andy, win it, and half of that five thousand dollars is yours.”
From excitement and incoherency, the little group got down to a serious discussion of the situation during the next half hour.
“It’s just one week from the race,” said Andy. “What can’t I do in learning to run the Racing Star in that time?”
“Andy, you must make it,” declared Parks energetically. “It just seems as if my heart would break if we lost this record.”
Mr. Morse got out a chart he had drawn of the run to be made on the twenty-first of the month.
“The course is very nearly a straight one,” explained Parks; “from the grounds here to Springfield, where the State fair is going on. Pace will be set by a Central Northern train, carrying assistants and repairs. The fleet will be directed by a large American flag floating from the rear of the train. It’s almost a beeline, Andy, and the Racing Star is built for speed.”
They made another ascent the next morning. Air and breeze conditions were most favorable for the try-out. Seated amidships, wearing a leather jacket, cap and gloves, Andy had the motor keyed up to its highest speed. The quick sequence of its exhaust swelled like a rapid-fire gun.
The machine rolled forward, the propellers beat the air, and the Racing Star rose on a smooth parabola. Andy attempted some volplane skits that were fairly hair-raising. He raced with real birds. He practiced with the wind checks. For half an hour he kept up a series of practice stunts of the most difficult character.
“Oh, but you’re a crack scholar, Andy Nelson,” declared the delighted Parks, as the Racing Star came to moorings again, light as a feather.
“I think myself I am getting on to most of the curves,” said Andy. “The only question is can I keep it up on a long stretch?”