"Put on the muffler," ordered Dave, as the exhaust began to sizzle.
Hiram did so. It was too late, however, to avoid sounding a warning to Dawson. The big man started up with a yell. He came to his feet roaring out:
"Come back!"
"I hope you'll find the walking good!" shouted Hiram, waving his hand in adieu to the amazed Dawson.
"Hiram, you're a genius!" cried Dave.
The Drifter struck a course as true as a die. The splendid machine and the young aviator were both at their best. There was a last fading picture of a forlorn man convulsed with rage and despair. Then the two boy aeronauts turned their back on the enemies who had been hoisted by their own petard.
"It's great, its grand," cheered Hiram, bubbling over with joy, as the exhilarating air and their magical progress made him realize what freedom meant to its fullest extent.
"I don't understand. Your arm, Hiram?" said Dave.
His jolly assistant waved the arm in question gaily.
"Wasn't it hurt?"