The old man slowly looked over to the crumpled mass of planes and machinery, and then, slowly and painfully, for he was much bruised, he pulled a note-book from his pocket. Leafing over the pages he announced:
"Busted to smithereens, and she cost me exactly eleven thousand five hundred and thirty-three dollars and nineteen cents! Oh, what a lot of money!" And the expression on his face was so painful that Dick felt inclined to laugh, solemn as the occasion was. But he restrained himself.
"Where's that fellow Larson?" asked Uncle Ezra.
"Badly hurt," said Dick, quietly.
"Oh, well, then I won't say anything," murmured the old man. "Oh, what a trip it was!"
"Are you much hurt?" asked Dick.
It did not appear that his uncle was. The fall had been a lucky one for him. His helmet had protected his head, and he had on two suits of clothes, well padded. The others were dressed likewise, but it had not saved Larson.
Lieutenant Wilson's most serious injury was a broken leg, but he was also otherwise hurt. He soon recovered consciousness, and said:
"Please don't misjudge me. I could not stop Larson from trying to ram you. He was insane, I guess. We have had a terrible time with him. He was mad to try to win this race. We remonstrated with him when he sailed toward you, but he said he was only trying to show you what a superior machine he had, and how much better his mercury stabilizers worked than your gyroscope. But I really fear he meant you some injury."
"I think so, too," said Lieutenant McBride, "and I am glad to learn no one else was in the plot."