“There’s Saturday left,” growled Rollins, as he turned his back on his fellow aviators in a wrathful way.
“I’ll beat the Torpedo there, too,” declared Mr. Davis confidently. “It can run like a whitehead on a straight course, but bungles at the turns. You lads want to keep in trim. There’s no saying what the Flyer may not want of you at the big event.”
Now to sanguine enthusiasm there had come a sudden dampener that had made Ben look blank and Bob gruesome with anxiety. Mr. Davis, ordinarily cheerful and even tempered, went all to pieces.
About four o’clock in the afternoon, after the encouraging victories of the day, the old aviator had decided to visit the hangar that housed the Flyer, to look over the machine and oil up and adjust the machinery for the last trial of the meet. A startling discovery greeted the aeronaut and his two young friends.
One of the great claims of the Flyer was that it had a double mechanism to the steering apparatus, that admitted of unusually prompt and efficient manipulation in case of striking a sudden change in the air currents. Mr. Davis with a good deal of pride claimed to be responsible for the adaptation—he did not call it an invention.
This essential and precious part of the mechanism of the Flyer was found unlocked from its bearings. Its inner rim of babbitt metal had been chiselled out of place, and the main part of the device had been broken squarely in two as if from the blows of a sledge hammer.
“It’s easy to guess why this was done,” remarked Bob Dallow hotly.
“Yes,” assented Mr. Davis, pale and excited, “this is foul play, the work of an enemy.”
He glanced at the boys in turn in a significant way, but did not voice his suspicions. All hands thought instantly of Burr Rollins.
“Well, if we found the culprit, and convicted him and tarred and feathered him into the bargain and drove him out of the camp and the profession, it wouldn’t mend the Flyer,” observed the old aviator, with a disconsolate look at his beloved machine. “It’s all up for me for to-morrow’s flight, lads.”