"That's--that's far enough!" Uncle Ezra managed to yell, above the
throb of the now throttled-down motor. "Don't go--any higher!"
"All right," agreed the aviator. "But she'll work easier up a
little more."
"No--it--it's too far--to fall!" said Mr. Larabee, and he could not
keep his voice from trembling.
Really, though, he stood it bravely, though probably the thought of
all the money he had invested in the craft, as well as the prize he
was after, buoyed up his spirits.
"How do you like it?" asked Larson, when they had circled around
over Mr. Larabee's extensive farm for some time.
"It's different from what I expected," remarked Uncle Ezra. "But
it seems good. I don't know as I'll stand it all the way to San
Francisco, though."
"Oh, yes, you will," asserted Larson. "You'll get used to it in
time."
"Is she working all right, Lieutenant Larson?"
"Yes, pretty well. I see a chance to make one or two changes
though, that will make her better."
"Does that mean--er--more money?" was Uncle Ezra's anxious question.
"Well, some, yes."
"Not another cent!" burst out the crabbed old man. "I won't spend
another cent on her. I've sunk enough money in the old shebang."
Larson did not answer. He simply tilted the elevating rudder and
the biplane poked her nose higher up into the air.
"Here! What you doing?" demanded Uncle Ezra.
"I'm going up higher."
"But I tell you I don't want to! I want to go down! This is high
enough!" and Uncle Ezra fairly screamed.
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