Excitement had reached its topmost pitch on the aviation field. It was but a few minutes to starting time for the great contest, and already four young aviators had their winged craft in line before the judge’s stand.
Engines were belching clouds of acrid blue smoke heavily impregnated with oily, smelling fumes. The roar of motors shook the air. Folks in the grandstand and on the crowded lawns excitedly pointed out to one another the different machines, all of which bore large numbers.
Excited officials, red-faced and perspiring, bustled about importantly, while from the top of the judge’s stand a portly man bellowed occasional announcements through a megaphone.
Suddenly he made an announcement that caused a hum of interest.
“Machine number seven—mach-ine num-ber sev-en! Fanning Harding, owner, has withdrawn from the race,” he announced.
A buzz of comment went through the crowd. Jess, Jimsy and Hal Homer, standing in a group by the empty Prescott hangar, exchanged astonished glances as they heard the news. What did that mean? Fanning had been swaggering about, boasting of his wonderful aeroplane, and now it appeared at the eleventh hour he had decided not to enter it.
“Must have had an accident,” opined Jimsy.
“Maybe he gave it one of those pleasant looks of his,” suggested Jess.
“Wherever can Peggy be,” exclaimed the girl the next minute; “she’s been gone for more than an hour. I do hope nothing has happened to her.”
“Not likely,” rejoined Jimsy, although he looked a little troubled over the non-appearance of the Golden Butterfly.