"We'll soon be
at the limits of the aviation field, and I doubt if these machines
will be allowed to go beyond it. So, if you want to beat them in
a race now is your time to speed up."
"Here she goes!" cried Dick, as he opened wider the gasolene
throttle.
In an instant the big craft shot ahead, fairly roaring through the
air. The closed cabin, however, kept the pressure of wind from the
occupants, or they might not have been able to stand it, for the
gage outside registered a resistance of many pounds to the square
inch.
It was an odd race. There were no cheering spectators to urge on
the contestants by shouts and cheers, though doubtless those who
were witnessing the evolutions of the aircraft, before Dick's advent
on the scene, were using their voices to good advantage. But the
birdmen were too high up to hear them.
Nor could the excited calls, if there were any such, from the two
rivals of our hero be heard. There were two men in each of the
competing biplanes, and they were doing their best to win.
It must have been an inspiring sight from below, for Dick's craft
was so large that it showed up well, and the white canvas planes of
the others, as well as those of the Abaris, stood out in bold
contrast to the blue of the sky.
"We're doing ninety an hour!" called Dick, after a glance at the
speed gage, while his companions were looking down at the craft
below.
"Pretty nearly the limit," remarked Mr. Vardon.
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