“None of that for me!” he had answered. “Runaway horses are dangerous enough, without tempting fate in the shape of an aeroplane. I wouldn’t go up for a million dollars, Tom. But I wish you all success!”
And success is what Tom hoped for as the craft rose from the ground on this, its first official trip.
“Well, Tom, she’s moving!” exclaimed Ned, as they rose higher and higher on a long slant off the landing field and headed toward the west.
“Yes, we got off in good shape,” agreed Tom, as he noted various instruments and gages on the walls of the car which indicated their speed upward as well as forward and gave their height above the earth.
“It certainly is fine,” asserted Mr. Damon. “Bless my upper berth! it beats traveling in a Pullman. And if you can do as you say, Tom, and keep us in this car right through to the end of the journey in San Francisco, it will be a marvel. No change, nothing to worry about, and traveling as clean as in a bath tub! It’s great! Bless my toothbrush, it’s great!”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say there was nothing to worry about,” remarked Tom, with a laugh, as he signaled to the mechanician for more speed.
“What do you mean—that letter the kid gave you?” asked Ned, in a low voice.
“No, I haven’t looked at that yet. Probably it’s from some one who begged for a free ride,” Tom answered. “But I mean the race isn’t over until we have sighted the Golden Gate. We’ve got to be there before dark to make a success of this airline express, and we’ve got to travel pretty fast—averaging two hundred miles an hour for over fifteen hours. I hope we can do it, but I haven’t given up worrying lest we fail.”
“Oh, we’ll do it all right!” declared Mr. Damon.
“Sure!” added Ned, though, truth to tell, he could understand and appreciate Tom’s feelings, knowing, as he did, something of mechanics and the slight defect in a piece of machinery that might throw all calculations out.