The Loon darted down the empty street, springing a few feet in the air and then bumping the ground again, for about one hundred feet. Then, springing upward it did not touch again but went skimming above the street like the bird for which it was named. This only for a moment when, checking herself slightly under Phil’s movement of her planes and rudder, the monoplane began mounting.
“Certainly a beautiful sight,” exclaimed Captain Ludington.
As Phil drove the Loon skyward and the rays of the setting sun struck the monoplane high in the air, the yells gave place to “Oh’s” and “Ah’s.” The planes of the ship were aluminum in color, while the guiding rudders and the horizontal plane and tail were white. On each, the sun rays cast a different tint and it seemed as if some powerful golden searchlight had focussed itself to paint a picture on the deep sapphire, cloudless sky.
As the Loon grew smaller, Mr. Mackworth asked how high it was.
“About 3,000 feet,” answered Frank.
“Three thousand feet!” exclaimed Lord Pelton.
“You’ll like it,” said Frank. “It’s a nice, safe height.”
Just then several hundred spectators saw the Loon veer off to the west, dip its plane downward and an instant later dash earthward in a series of spiral whirls. The men gasped and cried out but Frank only laughed.
“It’s only a quick descent,” he reassured his friends. “He’s all right.”