“Open that yellow paper. Spread it out. Both of you sit down close up to me. This is a special weather report that arrived five hours ago. The red lines and notations are mine. Listen carefully, and try and catch my idea of the surest and easiest course for to-morrow’s run.”
Both boys were impressed with the intensest interest and admiration, as the old aviator explained his ideas. Mr. Davis had marked out a zig-zag course to the northwest. At a glance, Ben could discern how carefully he had calculated and planned with expert skill.
Taking wind velocity, temperature readings, barometric depressions and storm centres for a basis, the wise old aviator had blocked out a course like a pilot at sea directing his ship through sandbars, reefs and counter winds. Where there was a cross air current, a mark designated it. He even indicated the altitude average.
“Why,” cried the exuberant Bob, “you make it a mere playing, Mr. Davis!”
“Do I?” retorted the old aviator grimly. “You may change your mind after a four hour’s spin. It’s no fun, lads.”
“I do not see how we can fail to do something quite fair, under all these conditions,” said Ben.
“It will be simply a question of the gasolene supply,” explained Mr. Davis. “There, however, is where that auxiliary pipe feature your father has invented comes in good. Now then, I want you to go to bed and shut your eyes and minds to the world till I wake you up. Remember, you have the biggest day of your lives before you, and you will need your best nerve and strength to meet it.”
“Hurrah!” crowed the irrepressible Bob.
“We’ll say that when we win,” added Ben.
They were not awakened until eight o’clock the next morning. Bob began to worry, and Ben himself was flustered at the lateness of the hour.