“It will break his heart if he doesn’t,” declared Bruce. “Why shouldn’t he, though? He’s ahead of the rest of them on practicing, and he’s got an expert pilot in his machine.”
“There’s a hit!” cried a voice near them, and necks were craned and eyes strained to watch a leather bag go tumbling over the edge of aeroplane number three. It landed directly on the basket aimed at—and the crowds yelled at this first sample of a new feature in aviatics.
“What’s wrong?” inquired a curious voice.
The guard stationed under the basket where the mail bag had fallen had stepped slightly away from his post. He had unfurled and was waving a blue flag.
“It doesn’t count,” guessed Bruce readily. “The machine must have been under the low level.”
A great laugh next swept the mob of onlookers. The Syndicate biplane had sent down a bag aimed at another basket. It went so far wide of its mark that it landed on the shoulders of a “White Wings” man thirty feet away, knocking off his hat and sending him scampering as though a bomb had struck him.
“Hiram—good—one!” suddenly yelled Bruce.
“You mean two,” remarked Mr. Brackett quietly a minute later, but with a slight chuckle of satisfaction.
The Scout had made two deliveries into different baskets true as a die. Unlike any of the others, the little machine sailed high, and as it approached a delivery point described a swift swoop. So true were the calculations of Dave Dashaway, that, directly at the turn of the volplane Hiram let loose the mail bag, counting on a forward sway of several feet in the descent.
“Ah—missed! but it hit the edge of the basket,” reported Bruce. Then the fourth one landed directly within its intended receptacle.