“Now,” he thought, with a sharp glance around the sky spaces, “I am in for it. If nothing goes wrong with the machinery or the prop I guess I can keep this crate level and get somewhere.”
But where?
In those precious moments the brown ship could have gone ten miles.
“He was mightily interested in the aircraft plant,” Bob reflected, letting the ship “fly herself,” as most well balanced aircraft will do in steady air, as long as flying speed is held. “Now all that we have found out, so far, has centered about the aircraft plant and—and The Windsock! Could he be around there? Or——”
As a new thought struck him he gripped the stick a tiny bit tighter.
“—Or, maybe he’s brought the brown ship back for some new stunt! It might be hidden in that field again!”
He pushed the stick a trifle to the side, thus operating the ailerons, while he used his rudder experimentally, meaning to swing in a circle.
Whether a good Providence watches over amateurs, in sports or in professions, or whether Bob had actually learned from his lessons, the fact is that he did not overbank or use too much rudder, and neither felt the wind of a skid on one cheek nor the breeze of a slip on the other. Around went the ship, in a wide swing.
Bob kept his eyes on the sky, with momentary glances at the instruments, not all of which were understandable to him yet; however, he knew the altimeter, the tachometer which records engine speed, the gas and oil pressure gauges and such important ones.
They seemed all to record satisfactorily. His altitude was six hundred feet; a little low for safety, so he climbed to twice that. The revolutions were even and plenty for his need, as he watched the fluctuations of the tachometer when he eased the throttle forward in his climb, or backed it gently in the level-off.