“But he never will,” spoke Mr. King. “Here goes for the final test. Perhaps it’s foolish to use our greatest speed on a new motor before it’s been warmed up and run longer than this has, but we might as well know first as last just what the Albatross will do. Now for the test!”
He pressed a button that communicated with the motor room, and there came such a vibration to the craft that one and all, who were not aware of the reserve power, looked at one another in some alarm.
“How about it, Dave?” inquired Mr. King. “Are we holding our own?”
“Yes! Yes!” eagerly answered the young aviator. “The gull is straining every wing feather, but he’s falling back. Look, no he’s even with us now! He’s going ahead—see—see!”
Was the Albatross, after all, to be beaten?
The gull was now flying alongside in such a position as to be visible to all. Clearly the bird was exerting every last ounce of strength. Its wings were wildly beating the air, and its slender head and hooked bill were stretched out like the prow of some slave-galley—cutting the air.
“It’s falling back—it’s falling back—we win!” cried Dave exultantly.
It was so. The gull, unable to keep up the terrific speed, was losing ground. The airship kept on, its awful power forcing it forward. Foot by foot the bird fell back until like some express train passing a slow freight, the Albatross shot ahead of the weary bird, and the creature, as if humiliated by the test, folded its wings and dropped downward like a shot, in order to rest. Then spreading wide its pinions again, it floated in the air, far below the rival craft.
“We sure did go!” cried Dave in triumph, as some of the terrific power was cut down. “But what was it you said you wanted to do, Mr. Dale—something that the sight of the gull reminded you about?”
“Oh, yes. Well, it’s nothing more or less than to release a carrier pigeon I have on board.”