“By Jove, don’t I wish I were in one of ’em!” he muttered. “Ah!”
The assistants were giving the propellers of some of the nearer machines a swift turn; and as the whirling blades became but misty circles the strange “birds” got into action.
“By Jove!”
This time Don Hale uttered the exclamation aloud.
A number of “penguins” had begun to “taxi” across the field, and were soon traveling at a most tremendous speed. Some twisted and staggered about, as though, every instant, they must topple over sideways and smash their wings against the turf. Others exhibited every indication of halting their onward rush and spinning around and around like a top, while still others, as straight and true as a swift breeze tearing its way across the countryside, kept rapidly growing smaller and fainter in the distance.
Yes, it truly was a remarkable spectacle that Don Hale had before his eyes. In the semi-darkness of that chill and early hour, the rushing “penguins” seemed to resemble a flock of huge birds, full of life, full of keen intelligence, rather than man-made machines.
There was a thrill and spice about the scene, too, which caused involuntary gasps to frequently come from the mouth of the student. Now and again, “penguins,” while traveling at a headlong pace, seemed about to smash into one another. The boy almost held his breath.
“Ah!”
One was down. Another, hustling past the fallen “bird,” just graced its broken wing. The game, even in the beginner’s class, was clearly not without its dangers.
Now the most skilfully handled machines had reached their destination—the flag at the other end of the field—and were returning as though borne on the blasts of a hurricane. From faint, insignificant whitish specks they became huge winged creatures in a moment of time, seemingly intent upon crashing their tempestuous way into the groups of moniteurs, mechanics and assistants and even through the hangars themselves.