“Ladies and gentlemen,” added President Elder, mounting the lower brace of the weight derrick. “It is only proper for me to announce once more that we are only able to make this exhibition to-day through the kindness of a Scottsville boy, Mr. Bud Wilson. The expert who was to operate our aeroplane disappointed us. But, rather than disappoint you, Mr. Wilson has volunteered to risk his life in exhibiting this wonderful invention. I hope you will help him by giving us ample room, and that you will refrain from rushing forward, if there happens to be an accident. We must have no interference, and, on behalf of Mr. Wilson, I ask absolute silence while he is adjusting the aeroplane for its hazardous plunge into space.”
A murmur ran through the crowd which, in a moment, died away into an awed silence. The speech and the silence that fell immediately upon the thousands present attracted Bud’s attention. He turned from his lingering look at the craft that meant so much to him just in time to find President Elder motioning to him. He stepped to the official’s side. As he did so, Mr. Elder sprang from the derrick and laid his hand on Bud’s shoulder.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” shouted the president in a voice that could be heard at the far edge of the expectant jam, “I take great pleasure in presenting to you Mr. Bud Wilson, our aviator. Good luck and success to you, Bud,” he added, melodramatically taking the boy’s hand.
A woman in the crowd sobbed and Bud, red with embarrassment, hastened into the shed.
“What’d you do that for?” exclaimed Bud, as the President joined him.
“Do what?” laughed Mr. Elder.
“Why shake hands that way and say that. I ain’t no circus.”
“Excuse me,” answered the fair official. “That’s just what you are. This is a show. And we want to make it worth our eighteen hundred dollars.”
“Oh, I see.”
“And that isn’t all. The real performance is yet to come. You don’t suppose you’re just going to shoot away in silence. Did you ever see ’em ‘loop the loop’ in a circus? Well, we’ve got that beat a mile. Listen. I’ll release the weight that starts you. When you are ready to get into the car, I’ll get up and tell ’em that any sound may distract you and cause a fatal accident. When they are absolutely still, you’ll take your seat and I’ll take my place at the weight cord. Then I’ll say in a solemn voice: ‘When you are ready, Mr. Wilson, say Go.’ You’ll look about, settle yourself, wait a few moments and then, sharp and quick, shout ‘Go!’ Then if you do go, the crowd’ll feel it has its twenty-five cents’ worth.”