"Ready!" rejoined Jimsy heartily, as he adjusted his leather helmet and
Jake and Roy started the engine.
Kelly, whose back had been turned while he talked to some of his troup,
faced round at the sound of the boy's voice.
"What, you here!" he choked out, his face purple.
"Yes; do you know any reason why I shouldn't be?" asked Jimsy, with
meaning emphasis.
Under the lad's direct gaze Kelly's eyes fell. He couldn't face the lad,
but turned away.
"There, if that isn't proof of his guilt I'd like to know what is,"
declared Jimsy to Roy.
"But the rascal covered up his tracks so cleverly that we can't prove
anything on him," muttered Roy disgustedly.
At the same instant the starting bomb boomed out. The crowd yelled, and
the drummer of the band pounded his instrument furiously. Above the
uproar sounded the sharp, crackerlike report of the motors. As more
power was applied they roared like batteries of Gatling guns.
Into the air shot one of them, a black biplane. It was followed by the
others, two monoplanes and a triplane.
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