The machine piloted by Puss was indeed circling and dropping to a lower strata, so that presently the voice of Sandy Hollingshead could be heard calling.
“Bet you couldn’t do that again in a thousand years, Frank!” he said, as though he had just received an unpleasant shock after witnessing the feat of bringing the monoplane successfully to earth after the engine had stopped short.
After a while he would realize that it was only a common way of alighting. Puss had managed thus far in a clumsy fashion, avoiding accidents more through good luck than management. For no aeroplane ever could make a landing with the engine running full.
“Thought you were in for a smash!” Puss admitted.
“Oh, well, you see I didn’t intend to shut off power so suddenly. My sleeve caught in the lever and I thought something had broken. But it was easy after all,” Frank sang out, not wishing to accept laurels he had not earned.
“Huh! thought it was an accident. You fellows will trust to luck once too often, mark my words!” Sandy called back as the biplane sailed away.
Andy would have willingly gone up again, but his more prudent chum advised that they let well enough alone.
“I want to do some little fixing to the engine,” he said, “and I reckon you can think up a few more places to hunt for your pet tool.”
And secretly Andy had something to ponder over. He realized more than ever that he would never be fitted to follow in the footsteps of his father, insofar as this matter of aerial navigation went, unless he put a sharp curb on his impatience.
Frank was the right kind of fellow to attempt these things. He had a remedy for any trouble, and on the instant. The more Andy thought of that incident and the clever way in which his chum had grappled with the threatened disaster the greater his admiration for Frank grew.