“I’d rather be Dashaway and Dobbs, the way that article tells about them,” said Mr. Brackett, “than win twenty races, and all the prizes going.”
There, sure enough, was glory and honor for the young aviators. A telegram with full details told of “the sure winner of the long distance race” putting back to give warning to save a vessel fast sinking in mid-lake with all on board.
“That’s the kind of advertising that counts!” cried Mr. Brackett, with vim and satisfaction.
“But we’ve lost first place!” mourned Hiram.
“Not in the estimation of the world at large. That will not soon forget the Ariel and its crew.”
Dave was relieved at the way his backer took the incident. It enhanced his regard and respect for a true friend and a true man a thousand fold.
The following day was to be given over to amateurs, and the exhibition of machines and their utilities. There was no thought in the mind of Dave of giving up the fancy stunt event, even if the grand prize had escaped him.
“I say, Hiram,” suggested Bruce the next morning, “can’t you take me on a little trip this morning? We’ve got nothing much to do to-day except wait for to-morrow.”
“Where do you want to go?” inquired the pilot of the Scout.
“Oh, west—in fact, well, Hiram, I’d like to go to Wayville.”