"But you say you left there at eleven," remarked Elephant, when the story had been completed. "Then it took you all this time to get back here, did it?"
"Shucks, no," replied Andy, who had now rejoined them, since the danger of quizzing seemed past. "We tried for height, and managed to get up to a point that we only beat once with our old monoplane. And this craft can do much better, Frank says."
"We made as high a point as we dared," Frank said. "It really got too cold, and we were shivering as if we'd been dropped into winter. Next time we go after an altitude record for amateurs we'll make sure to have warmer clothes along, eh, Andy?"
"We sure will," remarked that worthy, shivering at the recollection; and yet it was a hot July day; almost sweltering, in fact, where they now stood.
Larry stepped over to the biplane, and bending down, glanced at the little instrument intended for recording the extreme height reached during a flight. It could be set over again simply enough when the key was used to unlock the frame; this particular arrangement having been adopted in order that during a contest there could be no possible tampering with the barographs, the several keys to which would remain in the possession of the judges.
"Hey! that's going some," Larry immediately called out. "Ten thousand seven hundred feet is sure high, according to my notions. I don't wonder you found it slightly chilly. I've never been half that far up in all my life; and I've seen some big mountains, too. What's the record, Frank?"
"To tell the truth," the other replied, "I don't exactly know. The last I saw recorded it was about fifteen thousand feet; but hardly a week passes without some new man forging to the front, and putting up another win."
"Anything doing here while we were gone?" asked Andy, carelessly.
"Lots," replied Larry, with a knowing grin.
"Suppose you open up then, and tell us about it. Been having visitors?"