"Where's that fellow Larson?" asked Uncle Ezra.
"Badly hurt," said Dick, quietly.
"Oh, well, then I won't say anything," murmured the old man. "Oh,
what a trip it was!"
"Are you much hurt?" asked Dick.
It did not appear that his uncle was. The fall had been a lucky
one for him. His helmet had protected his head, and he had on two
suits of clothes, well padded. The others were dressed likewise,
but it had not saved Larson.
Lieutenant Wilson's most serious injury was a broken leg, but he
was also otherwise hurt. He soon recovered consciousness, and said:
"Please don't misjudge me. I could not stop Larson from trying to
ram you. He was insane, I guess. We have had a terrible time with
him. He was mad to try to win this race. We remonstrated with him
when he sailed toward you, but he said he was only trying to show
you what a superior machine he had, and how much better his mercury
stabilizers worked than your gyroscope. But I really fear he meant
you some injury."
"I think so, too," said Lieutenant McBride, "and I am glad to learn
no one else was in the plot."
"And his own foolish actions were the cause of this wreck," went on
Lieutenant Wilson. "He said he was sure of winning after he had
left you behind, and he wanted to try some experiments in quick
turns. He made one too quick, and broke off one of the planes."
"Well, we must consider what is to be done," said Mr. Vardon. "We
must get you all to a hospital and a doctor, at once.
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