Vardon. "I don't see how--"
"Your wireless!" interrupted Lieutenant McBride. "We can send out
a call to the army post by that--if they have a wireless station."
"They have," answered Lieutenant Wilson, as his fellow officer
looked at him. "If you will summon aid from there, we will be well
taken care of."
"Good!" cried Dick. "That problem is solved."
The wireless apparatus was brought out, the small balloon inflated,
and it carried aloft the aerials. Then, while the call for aid was
being sent out, Lieutenants Wilson and Larson were made as
comfortable as possible, and some of Uncle Ezra's scratches and
bruises were looked after.
"No more airships for me," he said bitterly, though with a chastened
spirit. "I'm going to stick to farming, and my woolen mill. Just
think of it--over eleven thousand dollars in that pile of--junk!"
and he shook his head sadly at the wreck of his airship.
"We'll take you on to San Francisco with us, if you like," said
Dick. "You can see us win the race--if we can," he added.
"You still have an excellent chance," said Lieutenant McBride. "My
advice to you would be to remain here a few days to rest up and make
sure all your machinery is in good order. The time will not count
against you. By that time the injured ones will be cared for. Then
you can go on again and complete the course. You have enough oil
and gasolene, have you not?"
"We could ask that some be brought from the army post, if we have
not," Dick answered.
Pages:
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239