"I'll clean it myself, with some of the gasolene.
I ain't going to waste money that way. I ought to charge you for
it."
"Well, I'll give you the gasolene to clean it," said the aviator,
with another unseen wink.
"Humph!" ejaculated Uncle Ezra with a grunt, as he tried to hold on
with one hand, and scrub off some of the oil spots with his
handkerchief.
"Well, I guess we'll go down now," announced Larson, after making
several sharp ascents and descents to test the efficiency of the
vertical rudder.
"Why, we're quite a way from the farm!" exclaimed Mr. Larabee,
looking down. "I didn't think we'd come so far."
"Well, I'll show you how quickly we can get back there!" boasted
Larson. "I'll have you at your place in a hurry!"
He turned more power into the motor, and with a rush and a roar,
the biplane shot forward.
But something happened. Either they struck an air pocket, or the
rudder was given too sudden a twist. Anyway, the airship shot
toward the ground at a sharp angle. She would have crashed down
hard, only Larson threw her head up quickly, checking, in a measure,
the momentum.
But he could not altogether control the craft, and it swept past a
tree in an orchard where they were forced to land, the side wing
tearing off the limbs and branches.
Then, bouncing down to the ground, the airship, tilted on one end,
and shot Uncle Ezra out with considerable force. He landed in a
heap of dirt, turned a somersault, and sat up with a queer look on
his face.
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