“Oh, run along,” snapped Cranny. “Get out of the way, now! Can’t you see the machine is headed right toward you?”
Mr. Ogden had already clambered to his place in the aviator’s seat. Bob followed, and eased himself down on a cushion close beside him, with his feet resting against a wooden bar.
“Mr. Aviator, what’s that big thing by the side of your head—a torpedo?” asked Willie.
“That is the gasoline tank,” explained Mr. Ogden, “and there is enough fuel in it to carry the machine for over one hundred miles. Remember, Bob, the roar of the engine will prevent much conversation in mid-air; so, in case you should begin to feel nervous, just give me a nudge—I’ll understand.”
“Don’t bother about me,” laughed Bob, as he looked down and ran his hand along the leather belt which stretched across his seat. “This will hold me in.”
“Well, dizziness or light-headedness is very apt to come without warning during the first ascent. I shall rely upon you to keep perfectly still.”
“I will, sir,” said Bob. “Oh! Nearly all of the stockade on the far side has been removed, hasn’t it? I was so interested I didn’t notice it before.”
Mr. Ogden smiled.
“We did that ourselves, Bob,” he said, “and for obvious reasons. You needn’t think it was the work of your friend, Hap Hazard.”
“Everything all ready!” called out Don. “Keep a safe distance away, boys.”