He indicated a brass tap on the dashboard, which bore, also, a number of instruments and lubricating devices, besides this and other valves.
“Well, the bag is so folded that it expands without trouble as the gas rushes in. When ready to fly, we connect the engines with that propeller instead of with the ordinary auto transmission. And then we——”
“But—but—but——” exclaimed the inventor eagerly, “how do you keep your machine on the ground while the bag is filling?”
“Easily,” smiled Jack. “I invented a form of anchor like a mushroom type. One of these is cast out on each side. The harder the Flying Road Racer tugs the deeper the edge of these anchors is embedded in the earth. When we wish to rise we pull ‘trip-lines’ attached to each anchor and—up we go!”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Mr. Peregrine. “Wouldn’t I like a ride in your machine some day?—I would.”
“You shall certainly have one,” rejoined Jack, “both on the road and in the air.”
Mr. Peregrine was pressed to remain to the noon-day meal, but he refused, saying that he must return to his home in time to put the vanishing gun in shape for the boys’ visit the next day.
“Can I promise you a surprise?” were his last words, as he started the Red Hawk skyward, “I think I can.—Good-bye.”
Whirr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! The Red Hawk leaped skyward, bearing its lone navigator swiftly aloft. In ten minutes it was a dot, and finally was obliterated altogether.
“Well, what do you think of him?” asked Tom, as they turned away and began to walk toward the house.