“Bother it all, he’s got a hold over us now,” muttered Jack Curtiss, turning away as Rob’s chums came up.
“Well, the smash-up happened,” said Rob to Paul. “I’m awfully sorry, Paul. I couldn’t help it, though. Something seemed to divert my attention for a second, and the next thing I knew I was head-over-heels in the snow-pile.”
“Good thing it was there,” said Merritt, who, with the others, had been examining the wreck.
“See what a big hole his head made,” cried Tubby, pointing to the hole in the soft snow where Rob had driven into it.
“I’ll make it all right with you, Paul,” Rob promised. “I’ll see that you are able to build a bigger, better flyer than this one. I believe that if we don’t break our necks trying it out, that you have a good idea there.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Paul.
“I do,” rejoined Rob.
“He really does,” sneered Jack Curtiss from the patch of shadow in which he and his cronies were standing.
“I wish you’d broken your skull instead of hitting that snow bank,” he went on.
“I don’t doubt it,” said Rob, serenely; “unfortunately for you, I didn’t.”