“Did you get hurt, Tubby?” demanded Andy, anxiously.
“Never a bit,” replied the grinning Tubby. “That’s the good of being encased in fat, you see. If it had been you, Andy, you would have gotten a broken rib, or something like that. Oh! thank you for my hat, mister. Did anybody see my knife; it slipped out of my hand just as I cut the cord that was holdin’ me to the machine?”
“Good for you, Tubby, if you had the presence of mind to do that!” cried Hiram.
“And here’s your knife, my boy,” said an air-pilot, advancing. “You had a narrow escape, and if I were you I would let it be the last time I ever tried to run with a machine. If you had fallen over you might have been dragged and killed.”
“Not by that cord, I should think, mister,” declared Tubby, holding up the piece that still dangled from his left arm, where a loop had accidentally become fast. “It would have broke short on me; but all the same I’m through trying games like that. I’m not built for it, I guess.”
They were pushing the monoplane back for another start. The aviator stopped to survey Tubby from head to foot.
“So, it was you holding me back, was it? Didn’t get hurt any, I hope? But looky here, young fellow, when I want an anchor I’ll get a real one, and not just a tub of jelly; understand that, do you?”
It was pretty rough on Tubby, for the crowd laughed uproariously, but he disarmed the anger of the air-pilot by joining in the mirth.
“I meant all right, mister,” he told the aviator, “and it would have been easy only for that cord that was hanging out. It got caught around my arm, and I couldn’t break away. Thank you for letting me off so easy.”
After that the boys walked away. It had threatened to be a serious matter at the time, but now that everything was over Andy and Hiram were secretly exchanging nods, and chuckling over the remembrance of their fat chum sprinting after the swift monoplane, going faster no doubt than he had ever done before in all his life.