“With good luck, no more delays and fair feather, we’ll just about do it,” Tom said, putting away the maps and calculating tables and instruments as they neared San Francisco. They had arranged for a landing field there—the same field that Tom used for his Airline Express, though he did not now consider using that machine, since the Air Monarch was doing so well.
It was evening when the great craft, going fast, passed the Golden Gate amid a salvo of whistles from all sorts of craft in the harbor, for scouting aeroplanes had discovered Tom’s approach and heralded it. Out to the landing field without mishap the Air Monarch soared, and there willing hands assisted in making a few slight repairs and in filling the gas and oil tanks.
“We’d like to have you address our Chamber of Commerce,” said the president of it to Tom, as that young man was nervously walking about his craft. “We have our annual meeting this evening and——”
“Sorry,” cut in Tom, with a smile. “But I’m going to hop off at once. I have only about a day left of my allowance, and there’s too much at stake to take any time here. If I win this race I may fly back and give you a talk.”
“I wish you would,” said the president.
At last everything was in readiness, and while police were clearing the field that Tom might have a runway to get a start for taking the air, there echoed above the Air Monarch a throbbing and beating in the night. It was a sound the nature of which Tom and Ned knew only too well.
“There goes the Red Arrow!” cried Tom, recognizing the peculiar throb of his rival’s propellers. “He’s ahead of us!”
In vain Ned sought to pierce the blackness above for a sight of the other machine. He could see a dim blur of light, and that was all.
“Cast off! Let’s start!” cried Tom, and a moment later, amid shouts of farewell and cries of good luck, the Air Monarch started on the last lap of the twenty-five-thousand-mile journey around the earth.
“Think we can make it, Tom?” asked Ned.