“Look there!” he shouted, exhibiting its reverse side. “See! It’s a telegram from Chicago. Read it, and see if I’ve been guessing wrong all along!”
Hiram held the sheet so that his companions could plainly read the following alarming message:
“Keep Dashaway and his machine out of the race at any cost.”
And it was signed: “Vernon.”
CHAPTER VII
THE HIDDEN HAND
“Hurray!” cheered Hiram Dobbs enthusiastically—“we’re off! Oh, Dave, this is life!”
“We are going to make this a record attempt, Hiram,” the young aviator advised his excited assistant. “Got the sealed barographs in place? All right. If we should really do something quite stunning, at the end of the flight we’ll submit results to the contesting committee of the governing organization at New York City.”
“A cross country flight as the crow flies!” cried Hiram. “It must be over three hundred and fifty miles. Dave, what do you expect?”