An hour passed, during which the crowd amused itself in various ways. Then a shout outside was heard. Although the words themselves were not understood, it was a call so clearly intended to bring the boys that a general stampede for the door was made.
And when they reached it, they perceived a biplane which, in utter defiance of the treacherous wind buffeting it about, was approaching the aviation grounds at tremendous speed, its graceful, rocking form outlined in lightish tones against the sinister-looking storm-clouds.
“I believe he’s going to land!” cried Don.
“Of course. Did you think he was condemned to fly forever!” chirped Dublin Dan.
Now the loud, droning hum of the motors and propellers, which had been filling the air, suddenly ceased, and the object darting swiftly through the sky began to volplane in graceful spirals toward the earth.
Realizing that the biplane, which all now recognized as a Nieuport machine, an avion de chasse, as the French call them, would alight some distance away, the crowd started running over the muddy field toward it.
And while they were on the way the pilot made the most perfect atterrissage[[6]] any of them had ever seen.
T. Singleton Albert, who had not yet left, was enthusiastic in his praise.
“Oh, boy, wasn’t that jolly fine!” he cried. “And——”
He got no further; for just then some one bawled out with much gusto and boisterousness: