“And it isn’t the biplane we saw here, at all,” Bob said. “Curt, do you know what?——”
“Yes. It’s the very ’plane we were in yesterday, with Lang. He gave it a final check-up and said if they worked on it all night it would be ready to take off today. That’s it, all righty! The biplane was brown, and——”
“This is the Silver Flash! I can see it glisten against that dark cloud,” added Al. “I think it’s coming down.”
“It’s diving.”
“No!” cried Bob. “It’s out of control! It’s falling!”
“Right over Rocky Lake!” shouted Curt.
“Come on!” urged Al, scrambling over the short stubble in the field, in haste to reach his bicycle and pedal toward the picnic grounds, less than a quarter of a mile away, in which Rocky Lake was situated.
“Wait!” counseled Bob.
“No! Come on!” Curt agreed with Al. The airplane was out of control. It was diving, straight toward the amusement ground around the lake. “It’s a crack-up!”
“There it goes!”