The trick of fortune caused Ping to gabble and jabber furiously, but McGlory watched and waited with passive willingness to accept whatever was to come.
"I guess you'll have to give up, Matt," said Cameron. "The road's too soft and you can't get a start."
Matt looked at the prairie alongside the road. The grass was short, and the springy turf seemed to offer some chance for a getaway.
"We'll try it there," said he, pointing to the trailside. "Give us a boost off the road, Cameron, and then start us."
The lieutenant assisted the laboring bicycle wheels to gain the roadside, and then pushed the machine straight off across the prairie. Matt threw every ounce of power into the wheels.
Usually the air ship took to wing in less than a hundred yards, but now the distance consumed by the start was three times that. For two hundred feet Cameron kept up and pushed; then the Comet went away from him at a steadily increasing pace. Finally the wheels lifted.
Quick as thought, Matt shifted the power to the propeller. The Comet dropped a little, then caught herself just as the wheels were brushing the grass and forged upward.
"Hoop-a-la!" cried Ping.
McGlory said nothing. His face was set, his eyes gleaming, and he was hanging to his seat with both hands.