“Can’t be helped. Young Prescott—that’s the name of the owner, isn’t it?—shouldn’t have gone off on a cross country tryout.”
Back to the hangar sped Hal, where Jess and Jimsy, almost beside themselves with excitement, were watching the homing aeroplane.
“She’ll be on time,” cried Jimsy as the graceful ship swept over the distant confines of the course and came thundering down toward the starting point.
A great cheer swept skywards as the aeroplane came on.
“She’ll make it.”
“She won’t.”
“Why is it so late?”
These and a hundred other questions and remarks went from mouth to mouth all through the big crowd.
“It’s all off,” groaned Jimsy suddenly.