CHAPTER XIX
UNCLE EZRA'S ACCIDENT
For some seconds after he had been taken up in the atmosphere in his airship, Uncle Ezra said nothing. He just sat there in the padded seat, clutching with his hands the rails in so tight a grip that his knuckles showed white.
Up and up they went, Larson skillfully guiding the craft, until they were a considerable distance above the earth.
"That's—that's far enough!" Uncle Ezra managed to yell, above the throb of the now throttled-down motor. "Don't go—any higher!"
"All right," agreed the aviator. "But she'll work easier up a little more."
"No—it—it's too far—to fall!" said Mr. Larabee, and he could not keep his voice from trembling.
Really, though, he stood it bravely, though probably the thought of all the money he had invested in the craft, as well as the prize he was after, buoyed up his spirits.
"How do you like it?" asked Larson, when they had circled around over Mr. Larabee's extensive farm for some time.
"It's different from what I expected," remarked Uncle Ezra. "But it seems good. I don't know as I'll stand it all the way to San Francisco, though."