“I ran short at Savannah,” explained Pierce to Dave. “I fancied I could get through with the twenty dollars I had left, being so near home.”
Dave took out his pocket book. The old farmer’s eyes glistened as our hero handed him five crisp twenty-dollar banknotes.
“Now then, Pierce,” spoke the young airman, “that’s settled. What’s the trouble with your machine?”
It did not take the expert Dave long to find out. Within half an hour he had the faulty gear sound as ever. The Comet had a full supply of gasoline. A transfer of some of it was made to the tanks aboard number seven.
The farmer and his sons, fully satisfied now, stood watching operations. Hiram and Elmer hustled about, giving their leader and his fellow aviator all the help they could.
“Everything is in trim,” announced our hero, finally. “Good-bye and good luck.”
Pierce held the hand so generously extended by Dave in a tremulous grasp. Tears of gratitude and esteem had rushed to his eyes.
“Dashaway,” he said, in a choked, broken voice; “you’re a man, every inch of you!”
Number seven went aloft. Dave called “all aboard!” Hiram pulled his face at the mean-spirited old trickster who had bled them. Elmer shook his fist at the farmer crowd.
“That’s you!” exclaimed Hiram. “Just fitted Pierce out to beat us, and delayed us, besides.”