“It’s all over now,” he said to himself. “These things don’t fall like rocks. If the engine stops, I’ll come down like a parachute. Here goes to do my stunt.”
A minute later, Bud was directing the aeroplane along the back stretch of the race track about one hundred and fifty feet above the ground. It all seemed so easy that he wondered why he had had any apprehension. In the midst of a chorus of yells and hurrahs from the hundreds who were vainly trying to keep pace with the aeroplane, Bud at last heard one positive voice:
“Get nearer the ground, you fool.”
The boy could not distinguish the man calling, but he recognized the voice. It was that of the stranger—the expert, T. Glenn Dare. So far, Bud had not time to think over the sudden appearance of the long waited for man. But he smiled as the episode came back to him.
“That must have been the Gypsy Queen’s ring,” he thought to himself. “Any way, I got my chance. I’m satisfied.”
Then he wondered: “What will Mr. Dare do when he makes a flight to-morrow. I wonder if he’ll stay close to the ground. He’s only jealous,” concluded Bud.
Prompted by that foolish idea and more than eager to take full advantage of his opportunity, the gritty boy decided that he was not satisfied—he determined, on a wild impulse, to test the airship to its limit.
Circling the half-mile track, he dropped down nearer the ground as he passed the crowded grand stand, but he was too intent on his work to give any heed to the applause that greeted him. The dusty track was packed with spectators throwing their hats into the air and shouting: “Let her out,” “Gimme a ride,” “Good boy, Bud,” and such expressions rang in his ears, but they did not draw even a smile.
Again, the wonderful craft, true to her steering gear and responding to her propellers in the almost dead calm, circled the track. But this time, as Bud reached the lower turn, he veered off to the left. As the inclined planes moved forward toward the center of the track, Bud put his indiscreet resolution into effect.