"Yes, the same kind that was used to cross the English Channel," interjected Mr. Sharp. "They're too uncertain for my purposes, though; they are all right under certain conditions."
Hardly had he spoken than a puff of wind caused the daring manipulator of the monoplane to swerve to one side. He had to make a quick descent—so rapid was it, in fact, that the tips of one of his planes was smashed.
"It'll take him a day to repair that," commented the aeronaut dryly.
The Red Cloud created a sensation as she slowly settled down in front of the big tent assigned to her. Tom's craft was easily the best one at the carnival, so far, though the managers said other machines were on the way.
The exhibition opened the next day, but no flights were to be attempted until the day following. Two more crafts arrived, a large triplane, and a dirigible balloon. There were many visitors to the ground, and Tom, Ned and Mr. Sharp were kept busy answering questions put by those who crowded into their tent. Toward the close of the day a fussy little Frenchman entered, and, making his way to where Tom stood, asked:
"Air you ze ownair of zis machine?"
"One of them," replied the lad.
"Ha! Sacre! Zen I challenge you to a race. I have a monoplane zat is ze swiftest evaire! One thousand francs will I wager you, zat I can fly higher and farther zan you."
"Shall we take him up, Mr. Sharp?" asked Tom.
"We'll race with him, after we get through with the club entries," decided the aeronaut. "But not for money. It's against my principles, and I don't believe your father would like it. Racing for prizes is a different thing."