Hiram, as he later explained it to his chum, was “mad all over,” but he saw no safe way out of the dilemma. He preserved a stubborn silence, but thought steadily.
“If I know anything about Dave’s ways,” he soliloquized, “he won’t let any grass grow under his feet. He’ll think and act. A man ran up as this fellow aboard here pushed up the machine. I think it was Dennis, the watchman. The police broke in through the fence, too. Oh, yes, Dave will soon be aloft, and looking for me.”
So convinced of this was Hiram, that he immediately put in operation a plan suddenly suggested to his mind. He reached out one hand and began loosening the screws that held in place the plate covering the vibrator. His passenger was alive to every move he made and was watching him intently.
“Hey, what you up to?” he snarled and then, as if through accident, Hiram shifted the plate so that it went whirling down through space, leaving the mechanism of the vibrator entirely exposed.
“I guess I’ve got to see if the cylinders are sparking right; haven’t I?” snapped Hiram.
“I don’t like that game!” growled the man behind him.
“Say,” jeered Hiram impatiently, “if you don’t take to my way of running this machine, suppose we change places?”
“Oh, of course, I’m no sky pilot”—began the other.
“Then allow me to run this biplane in my own fashion. You’ll have to, I guess,” added Hiram, “or drop. You may be desperate, but I’m in no very good humor myself, drifting around to suit your fancy, and you’ll leave me alone, if you’re wise.”
The passenger relapsed into silence now. Probably a realization of the fact that he might unnerve the pilot, or actually drive him to some rash action, caused him to assume a less forceful attitude. They must have gone fully thirty miles before Hiram spoke again.