At considerable risk, Bud jerked off his hat and leaned forward.
“For the ladies,” he shouted, “with the compliments of Mr. Elder.”
In the roar of thousands of voices, yelling and laughing, the aeroplane shot by. On the back stretch of the track, Bud again made sure that Mr. Stockwell and Deputy Pusey were at the airship shed. As he passed on his second round, the cries were deafening.
“What’s the matter with the hollyhocks?”
“Give us a sunflower?”
“Have ’em all in a few minutes,” thought Bud.
As the third round began, Bud set himself for his finish.
“They’ll certainly figure that I’m going to come down to-day,” he said to himself. “And I am. But not where they’re waitin’ for me.”
The natural thing for the aviator to do would be to pass by the grand-stand, thus completing his third circuit, and then, at the lower end of the track, to make a quick turn and head directly up the center of the enclosure to the shed. What every one expected, Bud did not do. He didn’t propose to stop for explanations or to be arrested.