“And pull your hats over your eyes,” he ordered. “Hold your heads down and hang on until you get the word to ‘let go’.”
The captain, not less eagerly than Andy, did as directed, and Roy, having turned the propeller blades into place, started the engine. The first whirr of the big blades began to agitate the loose sand and dry grass. Then the young aviator turned on more power. The agitation grew into a breeze, and that into a tornado-like storm of wind. The boy and the man on the ground felt the aeroplane pulling, and as it began to tug at its human anchors and rock from side to side, Roy quickly shut off the engine.
“Fine,” he remarked without excitement, as the dust and grass settled and Andy and the captain shook the dirt from their faces. “Nothing the matter with that engine.” Then with another look about and a “feel” of the hand for the wind, he walked to the front of the car.
The breeze seemed a little stronger now. As the young aviator noticed this, he ran into the boathouse and appeared with his coat. This he buttoned and then turned up the collar.
“There’s just a chance that I’ll have to go up a little to turn and get back on the beach,” he explained, “and you don’t have to go very high to find it considerably cooler.”
Then he turned the visor of his cap to the rear, and climbed into the seat.
“Hold on till you get the word,” he commanded. At the same moment he started the engine again.
Once more the rush of wind behind told the power of the revolving propellers. Roy did not look behind. One hand on the engine valve and the other on the lever control, he sat unmoving. Lower and lower dropped the heads of the captain and Andy, as their heels sank into the sand and their hands gripped the framework—the fragile car was throbbing with power and the propellers were no longer visible.
“She’s slippin’—!”
“Let go!” shouted Roy.