“Now, young man,” he said with parental sternness to Roy, “no more excuses about not knowing how far above the ground you are. This is a mechanical test, not a circus exhibition. Keep that handkerchief dragging on the ground. D’ye hear?”
“Yes, father,” laughed the boy, “only I don’t want that handkerchief and the knot. It’s all right if I don’t happen to pass over a fence. A little catch in a crack wouldn’t do a thing but upset me.” He untied the handkerchief and handed it back. “I’ll watch the string—this time. But never again.” And he laughed.
“Don’t know but you’re right,” remarked Mr. Osborne.
“Sure he is,” added Mr. Atkinson with a broad smile. “All ready, boys?” he added, turning to the workmen.
“All ready here,” came from the boy.
“Go ahead,” exclaimed Mr. Osborne.
Roy’s eager hands turned on his gasoline. As the two propellers darted into action and the horizontal, spidery planes began to tremble as if semi-buoyant already, the attendants sprang forward.
“Keep away,” exclaimed the boy in the car. “Keep away. Give her a chance.”
The men stepped back again.
“That’s right,” added Mr. Atkinson. “Give it a chance.”