"We've got to go higher," said Larson. "The carburetor isn't
working just right at this low elevation. That's what I wanted the
extra money for, to get a new one. But of course if you feel that
you can't spare it, why, we'll simply have to fly higher, that's
all. The carburetor we have will work all right at a high elevation
on account of the rarefied air, but with a different one, of course
we could stay lower--if we wanted to.
"Still, if you feel you can't afford it," he went on, with a sly
look at the crabbed old man who sat there clutching the sides of
the seat, "we'll have to do the best we can, and make this
carburetor do. I guess we'll have to keep on a little higher," he
added, as he glanced at the barograph.
"Say! Hold on!" yelled Uncle Ezra in his ear. "You--you can have
that money for the carburetor! Go on down where we were before."
"Oh, all right," assented Larson, and he winked the eye concealed
from his employer.
The aircraft went down, and flew about at a comparatively low
elevation. Really, there did not seem to be much the matter with
the carburetor, but then, of course, Larson ought to know what he
was talking about.
"She's working pretty good--all except the carburetor," said the
former army man, after they had been flying about fifteen minutes.
"The motor does better than I expected, and with another passenger
we'll be steadier. She needs a little more weight. Do you want to
try to steer her?"
"No, sir! Not yet!" cried Uncle Ezra.
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