“Ladies and gentlemen: Mr. Wilson announces that all is ready for his daring flight into the clouds. I must ask that each and every one of you maintain complete silence. Any undue noise may divert the attention of the operator and the slightest disturbance may mean his instant death.”
The mob seemed to sink back in awe. Bud and President Elder were perhaps the only persons present whose hearts were not, figuratively, in their mouths. The bareheaded president raised his hand. You might have heard a pin drop.
“When you are ready, Mr. Wilson, say ‘Go.’”
Throwing on the ignition and giving the balance wheel a turn, Bud saw the white propellers begin to revolve. As they gathered speed and the engine was fully in motion—the car beginning to tremble under the impact—Bud sprang into the little seat, thrust his feet into the hanging supports and grasped the levers.
As his lips framed themselves to give the final signal, a flying figure shot into his sight. A man panting, and with his hat in his hand was rushing across the cleared space closely pursued by one of the special policemen. Hardly able to speak, his arm wildly gesticulating, the new arrival was shouting:
“Stop, stop. I just got here. What are you doin’?”
“Get out o’ the way,” shouted Bud in reply. “Get off that track.”
“I’m Dare,” panted the man. “Who’s tryin’ to run this? Stop!”
“Get off that track,” shouted Bud again.
“You’ll break your neck,” the breathless man managed to get out. But he saw the car trembling for the start, and he began moving aside.