“Goin’ to be cold up in the clouds?” inquired one facetious onlooker.
For answer, Bud fastened the right-angled hook attached to the end of the starting rope to the lowest cross brace of the forward rudder frame and then, with the help of the carpenter and the superintendent, pushed the aeroplane backward on the two tracks until the rope was taut. The bags of sand weighing 1500 pounds were already at the top of the derrick, and the release cord was ready for President Elder’s manipulation.
“Don’t forget the program,” whispered that official, as he stepped by Bud.
“I’ll go you one better,” answered the boy, with a smile. Then, recalling what he had often seen in circuses, Bud stepped a few paces forward and looked the car over critically. This was wholly for effect, but with a most concerned face, the young aviator squinted at the ship of the air from two or three angles. Then he mounted the end of the starting rail and looked critically into the sky, even holding up his hand as if to test the air.
“Purty resky business,” volunteered one man in the front line.
“Ain’t agoin’ to take no chances,” suggested another.
Then, Bud ignoring, but drinking in with great satisfaction these and many other nervous comments, walked rapidly to the aeroplane, and, with well assumed professional rapidity, felt and shook several braces.
“I reckon he knows what he’s about, all right,” Bud heard some one say, and the boy, losing his smile for a moment, wondered if he did.
“Ain’t no use puttin’ it off longer,” he said to himself, and he waved his hand toward the fair president. Mr. Elder at once ascended to the derrick cross brace, and removing his hat with a flourish, shouted: