Beside the winged machines sputtering and coughing as if impatient at the delay, was a large and comfortable red touring car. At the driver's wheel of this vehicle was seated a small, "under-done"-looking man, in a chauffeur's uniform of black leather. This was Jake Rickets.
"Well, Jake, we're all ready for a start," announced Roy, at last.
The small man, whose hair was fair, not to say pale, glanced at the glowing boy with an expression of deep melancholy.
"Yes, if something don't happen," he declared, in tones of deep pessimism.
"Jake's never happy unless he's foreboding some disaster," explained Roy to Bess, who happened to be standing by drawing on her gloves.
"It don't never do to be too sure," murmured the melancholy Jake, "'cos why? Well, you can't most generally always tell."
"Everything ready?" cried Peggy at last, as Miss Prescott got into the car.
"As ready as it ever will be," merrily called back Bess, who was already seated in the little green Dart.
The chorus of engine pantings and explosions was swelled by the roar of Roy's big biplane and the rattling exhaust of Jimsy's fierce-looking Red Dragon.
The Golden Butterfly, which was equipped with a silencing device, ran smoothly and silently as a sewing machine. Peggy sat at the wheel, while Jess reclined on the padded seat placed tandemwise behind her. It made a wonderful picture, the big white biplane with its boy driver, the scarlet and silver machine of Jimsy Bancroft and the delicate green and gold color schemes of the other two flying machines.