"And his own foolish actions were the cause of this wreck," went on Lieutenant Wilson. "He said he was sure of winning after he had left you behind, and he wanted to try some experiments in quick turns. He made one too quick, and broke off one of the planes."
"Well, we must consider what is to be done," said Mr. Vardon. "We must get you all to a hospital and a doctor, at once."
"Don't mind about me," replied Lieutenant Wilson, gamely. "If you can send me help, do so, but don't delay here. Go on and win the race. You have the best chance, I believe."
"We don't go on until we see you cared for," spoke Dick. "We would take you all with us, only it might endanger you."
"Well, I wish you'd take me!" exclaimed Uncle Ezra, limping about. "I want to get back home. Nephew Richard, I'm sorry I tried to beat you in this race."
"That's all right, Uncle Ezra," answered the young millionaire. "You had as good a right to try for the prize as I did."
"But I want to say I didn't have no hand in trying to butt into you," went on Mr. Larabee. "It was all that—that unfortunate man's idea," he added more softly, as he gazed at Larson who was still unconscious. "Dick, will you forgive me, and shake hands?"
"Surely, Uncle Ezra," and as their hands met, Grit, who had been eyeing Mr. Larabee narrowly, uttered a joyful bark, and actually wagged his tail at Uncle Ezra.
"Grit, you shake hands, too," ordered Dick, and though Uncle Ezra was a little diffident at first, he grasped the extended paw of the bulldog. They were friends for the first time.
"We could take Uncle Ezra in the airship," said Paul, after a pause, "and if we could only send out a call for help for Lieutenant Wilson and Larson, they would be looked after."