“We are now passing Cresston, Pennsylvania. Land and wait for us at Remson. You can tell it by its red brick church tower.”
“There it is off there to the north about five miles,” cried Harry, pointing to where a tall red tower stood out against the sky.
“I hope we can find a good landing place there,” said Frank, setting his rudder over a bit. The airship answered like an obedient steed. Round to the north she swung, her gyroscopic balancing device keeping her from heeling over, even at the sharp angle at which Frank guided her round.
As they drew near Remson the greatest excitement prevailed. People could be seen scurrying out in all directions and pointing upward. Suddenly a deep-toned “ding-dong” was borne upward to the young sky navigators.
“They are ringing the church bell to announce our arrival,” cried Frank.
“Well, I hope they’ve got supper ready for us,” laughed Harry; “air-riding gives me an appetite like a horse.”
A few hundred yards from the center of the town was a flat green field which made an ideal landing place. Frank swept downward toward it and as the townsfolk saw that the aeroplane was going to drop there was a mighty rush of townsfolk. The road leading to the field was black with them. The younger ones climbed fences and cut across lots to get there in time.
Frank saw that unless they got out of the way there was going to be trouble. He shouted to them to clear a path, but either from stupidity or from ignorance of aeroplanes they stood stolidly gazing upward, open mouthed, as the aeroplane rushed down.
“Out of the way!” yelled Frank.
“Hurray!” cried the people, not budging an inch.