It was not Dave’s habit to “show off” nor to advise his rivals of his prospective programme. The location of the practice grounds was ideal. The country about was level, and there was a lake area over which long distance flights would be unhampered. The day before, however, and on the present occasion, as soon as both aviators were in their places in the machine, its pilot started a course for a barren uninhabited reach among the sand dunes twenty miles south of the grounds. Here they were unnoticed and had free scope.
“No danger of collisions here,” observed the cheerful Hiram, as they landed and Dave sailed off alone. Then he sat down on a heap of brush and chucklingly announced himself as “an audience of one,” prepared to enjoy the spectacle of the occasion.
“Bravo!” voted the loyal and enthusiastic lad, as Dave made a superb sweep that vied with a sailing pigeon, fleeing in terror from this unfamiliar monarch of the air.
Then Hiram clapped his hands loudly, and kicked with his feet, as though in some auditorium, and bound to applaud, as Dave made a volplane that seemed destined to land the machine nose deep in the flickering sands. Suddenly, twenty feet from the ground, he balanced, even tipped, and went up, up, up—until machine and pilot were a mere speck.
“Hurrah!” rang out briskly, when the daring operator of the Ariel began a spiral drop. And then as Dave landed, his assistant, half wild with delight, was dancing from foot to foot. “Oh, I say,” he shouted, “it’s up to Valdec! Honest, Dave, it beats him. Yes, sir, it actually does!” and the faithful chum laughed, as though already he saw the capital prize of the meet safe in the hands of his friend.
The chums put in two hours about the flying field afforded by the sand dunes. They started back for the International grounds feeling duly satisfied. Dave was more satisfied with the Ariel than ever. The perfect piece of mechanism had never “balked” yet. Hiram professed to see new skill and expertness in his gifted chum with every succeeding flight.
“Let’s take a view of the city before we go home,” he suggested, and Dave was nothing loth.
“Doll houses and pigmies; eh?” submitted Hiram, as they flew over the south end of the city. “A little flat patch of the world, down there. Those vessels on the lake look like play-ships. That big skyscraper doesn’t appear much larger than a chicken house. There’s some excitement!” and Hiram leaned over to get a better view of what had attracted his attention. “Dave,” he cried suddenly, “it’s a fire!”
Dave made out smoke and flames about a very high structure located near the river that traversed the heart of the city. He was as much interested as his companion, for a mimic play seemed going on below. Everything appeared in miniature—the hurrying fire engines, the puffing fire-boats on the river, the great crowds, the giant building wreathed with smoke. As they neared this Dave made out more clearly the situation.
“It seems to be a storage warehouse, built solid from the sixth story up,” he said. “The lower stories are all on fire. It will be a bad blaze when it gets up into the closely sealed upper part.”