"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"Hang to the bar—don't lose your nerve!"
Matt's mind was grappling with the complex situation. To get safely to the ground in the shortest possible time was the problem that confronted him.
How the wing had caught fire he did not know, and had not the time even to guess. It sufficed that the plane was ablaze, and that the longer it blazed and ate into the fabric the less resistance the plane made to the atmosphere. And it was this resistance that spelled life for the king of the motor boys and the girl!
To drop the blazing aëroplane into that sea of heads below meant injury to some of the spectators. Matt must avoid this and reach the earth in the roped-off lane from which the ascent had been made.
He put the clamps on his nerves, and, with brain perfectly clear, drove the aëroplane about at a sharp angle.
Then, if ever, the machine was true to its name, for as it darted onward, the smoke and flame that streamed out behind must have given it the look of a comet.
Could he drop to earth, the young motorist was asking himself, before the fire struck either of the gasoline tanks?
Motor Matt, as he coaxed the last ounce of speed from the motor, shouted encouragingly to the terrified girl on the trapeze.