Hiram was in great suspense as they came up to the grounds from the south. His eager eyes scanned the center field. Then he fell back in his seat with a groan.
“One in—we’re beaten, Dave,” he almost sobbed. “It’s the Whirlwind.”
They could see the Valdec machine plainly as they descended. There was a crowd around it. Dave landed near the judges’ stand, turned the Ariel over to two attendants in the employ of their hangar, and went to headquarters to report. Bruce came running up to Hiram with a decidedly long face.
“The blackboard gives the race to Valdec,” he spoke in a subdued tone.
“I guess they’ve won it,” snapped Hiram. “Lording it over all creation, I suppose?”
“They feel pretty flighty,” pronounced Bruce. “I’m dreadfully sorry.”
“Where is Mr. Brackett?” asked Hiram, looking about for their friend and backer.
“Why, he was called to Chicago on business, and had to go. Said he’d be back by evening, though.”
It was with a laggard, disheartened way that Hiram proceeded to the hangar. Dave joined the boys soon after. He tried to act cheerily, but secretly he was quite depressed.
He had done his best. Better than that, he had done just right. Business was business, however. Dave realized how greatly Mr. Brackett counted on the Ariel coming out victor and winner of the big prize. It was not so much the amount involved that the manufacturer cared for as a final recognition of the superior qualities of his machine.