Won by a Length
Rising upward, on a steep slant, for he wanted to get into the upper currents as soon as possible, Tom looked down and off to his left and saw one machine going over the ground in curious leaps and bounds.It was the tiny Demoiselle--the smallest craft in the race, and its peculiar style of starting was always thus manifested.
"I don't believe he's going to make it," thought Tom.
He was right.In another moment the tiny craft, after rising a short distance, dove downward, and was wrecked.The young inventor saw the two men crawling out from the tangled planes and wings, apparently uninjured.
"One contestant less," thought Tom, grimly, though with pity in his heart for the unfortunates.
However, he must think of himself and his own craft now.He glanced at Mr.Damon sitting beside him.That odd gentleman, with never a thought of blessing anything now, unless he did it silently, was watching the lubricating system.This was a vital part of the craft, for if anything went wrong with it, and the bearings overheated, the race would have to be abandoned.So Tom was not trusting to any automatic arrangement, but had instituted, almost at the last moment, a duplicate hand-worked system, so that if one failed him he would have the other.
"A good start!" shouted Mr.Damon in his car.
Tom nodded, and glanced behind him.On a line with the Humming- Bird, and at about the same elevation, were the Bleriot monoplane and a Wright biplane.Below were the Santos-Dumont and the Antoinette.
"Where's the Slugger?" called Tom to his friend.
Mr.Damon motioned upward.There, in the air above Tom's machine, and slightly in advance, was Andy Foger's craft.He had gotten away in better shape than had the Humming-Bird.
For a moment Tom's heart misgave him.Then he turned on more power, and had the satisfaction of mounting upward and shooting onwarduntil he was on even terms with Andy.
The bully gave one glance over toward his rival, and pulled a lever.The Slugger increased her speed, but Tom was not a second behind him.
There was a roaring noise in the rear, and up shot De Tromp in the Farman, and Loi Tong, the little Japanese, in the Santos-Dumont.Truly the race was going to he a hotly contested one.But the end was far off yet.
After the first jockeying for a start and position, the race settled down into what might be termed a "grind." The course was a large one, but so favorable was the atmosphere that day, and such was the location of Eagle Park in a great valley, that even on the far side of the great ellipse the contestants could be seen, dimly with the naked eye, but very plainly with glasses, with which many of the spectators were provided.
Around and around they went, at no very great height, for it was necessary to make out the signals set up by the race officials, so that the contestants would know when they were near the finish, that they might use the last atom of speed.So at varying heights the wonderful machines circled about the course.
The Humming-Bird was working well, and Tom felt a sense of pride as he saw the ground slipping away below him.He felt sure that he would win, even when Alameda, the Spaniard, in the Antoinette, came creeping up on him, and even when Andy Foger, with a burst of speed, placed himself and his passenger in the lead.
"I'll catch him!" muttered Tom, and he opened the throttle a trifle wider, and went after Andy, passing him with ease.
They had covered about thirty miles of the course, when the humming and crackling of the wireless apparatus told Tom that a message was coming.He snapped the receiver to his ear, adjusting the outer covering to shut out the racket of the motor, and listened.
"Well?" asked Mr.Damon, as Tom took off the receiver.
"Dad isn't quite so well," answered the lad."Mr.Jackson says they have sent for Dr.Hendrix again.But dad is game.He sends me word to go on and win, and I'll do it, too, only--"Tom paused, and choked back a sob.Then he prepared to get more speed out of his motor.
"Of course you will!" cried Mr.Damon."Bless my--!"But they encountered an adverse current of wind at that moment, and it required the attention of both of the aviators to manage the machine.It was soon on an even keel again, and once more was shooting forward around the course.
At times Tom would be in advance, and again he would have to give place to the Curtis, the Farman, or the Santos- Dumont, as these speedy machines, favored by a spurt from their motors, or by some current of air, shot ahead.But, in general, Tom maintained the lead, and among the spectators there began a series of guesses as to how much he would win by.
Tom glanced at the barograph.It registered a little over twelve hundred feet.He looked at the speed gage.He was doing a trifle better than a hundred miles an hour.He looked down at the signals.There was twenty miles yet to go.It was almost time for the spurt for which he had been holding back.Yet he would wait until five miles from the end, and then he felt that he could gain and maintain a lead.
"Andy seems to be doing well," said Mr, Damon."Yes, he has a good machine," conceded Tom.
