Ben poised his bombs with all the accuracy and skill he could command. It was a new and novel exploit in which he had no practice. The constant turnings of the monoplane were confusing, but after the first half dozen of the experiments Ben began to get the knack of poising and dropping the projectiles.
“They didn’t all go wild, I think,” he said, as the last orange performed its mission.
“We’ll get below and see how you have panned out as to bombardment,” said Bob. “I’ll try a record on plain aero stunts before we land, Ben.”
“Careful, Bob!” warned Ben, as his daring comrade made a sensational dive.
“The spiral dip,” announced Bob. “Hold your breath.”
“Whew!” ejaculated Ben.
In a whirling top-like series of gyrations, such as Ben had seen a bicycle spin in a crack trick display, Bob manipulated the Flyer. It described a perfect spiral effect for nearly eight hundred feet. Then with a sharp veer the machine turned its planes and shot upwards. A second venturesome figure eight followed. Amid a tremendous ovation from the spellbound crowd, the Flyer struck on its wheels, bounded, rose, dropped again, and slid one hundred yards to a graceful stop.
“You’re an artist, Bob,” declared Ben enthusiastically, as they climbed from the machine.
The boys proceeded over to that part of the field where they had set the boxes. Mr. Davis was leading a crowd along the line. Two men accompanied him, one carrying a measuring line. The other was making notations on a tab of paper.
The old aviator waved his hand at his young assistants in a cheering fashion as they reached the last box.