“She’s turning, she’s first in rounding for the home run. Can’t you speed up?”
Dave kept his eye on the machine he regarded as his principal rival. He watched its maneuvering narrowly. The Whirlwind had indeed turned, but now it was evident it had to contend with new and more difficult conditions.
“It’s one thing to face the wind, and quite another to run away from it. Watch the control, Hiram,” directed Dave.
“I’ve got both eyes in use,” reported his assistant.
“Now then,” said Dave simply. “Careful!”
He circled the point where a group of men were gathered, one with a white flag in his hand. This individual stood near a score board, and tallied off the machines as they passed.
The Ariel made a sort of leap, as her pilot brought the machine broadside to the fierce breeze. In two minutes the young aviator comprehended, and analyzed, the conditions as would an expert running a yacht.
“A fog is coming up, and it’s misting,” announced Hiram. “We’re not cutting due west, are we?”
“Not on this occasion,” responded Dave coolly. “Hiram, we’ll make time and distance drifting south of the grounds. When we strike the land breeze it will be easier to fight our way back north.”
“You know best, Dave,” said Hiram, and then for a full quarter of an hour nothing further was said. Dave did some fine maneuvering. Hiram followed the signals given him as to the rear control apparatus, a mission that relieved the pilot from a sort of double duty under the present stress.