"
"Don't mind about me," replied Lieutenant Wilson, gamely. "If you
can send me help, do so, but don't delay here. Go on and win the
race. You have the best chance, I believe."
"We don't go on until we see you cared for," spoke Dick. "We would
take you all with us, only it might endanger you."
"Well, I wish you'd take me!" exclaimed Uncle Ezra, limping about.
"I want to get back home. Nephew Richard, I'm sorry I tried to beat
you in this race."
"That's all right, Uncle Ezra," answered the young millionaire.
"You had as good a right to try for the prize as I did."
"But I want to say I didn't have no hand in trying to butt into
you," went on Mr. Larabee. "It was all that--that unfortunate man's
idea," he added more softly, as he gazed at Larson who was still
unconscious. "Dick, will you forgive me, and shake hands?"
"Surely, Uncle Ezra," and as their hands met, Grit, who had been
eyeing Mr. Larabee narrowly, uttered a joyful bark, and actually
wagged his tail at Uncle Ezra.
"Grit, you shake hands, too," ordered Dick, and though Uncle Ezra
was a little diffident at first, he grasped the extended paw of the
bulldog. They were friends for the first time.
"We could take Uncle Ezra in the airship," said Paul, after a pause,
"and if we could only send out a call for help for Lieutenant Wilson
and Larson, they would be looked after."
"There's an army post not far from here," spoke Wilson. "If you
could make a trip there--"
"We'd have to land again, to summon aid, and this is the last stop
we are allowed in the race," said Mr.
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