Hastily as he dressed, however, he
found that Peggy was before him on the dewy lawn, field glasses in hand.
Down the road could be seen, in front of the Mortlake plant, a small crowd
of mechanics with one or two dominant figures moving among them. With the
glasses, they had no difficulty in making out Mortlake's heavy-shouldered
figure, and the slender, upright form of Lieut. Bradbury. All at once the
group opened up a bit and they saw a silvery, glittering aeroplane, agleam
with new aluminum paint, throbbing and vibrating, as if anxious to be off.
Blue smoke eddied up as the motor roared and whirred. The air seemed to
vibrate under the sound as if a battery of gatling guns had been
discharged.
Fascinated, brother and sister watched the spectacle intently. They saw
Mortlake clamber heavily into the machine, followed by Lieut. Bradbury. A
mechanic started for the front of the plane and began swinging the
propeller.
"At least they haven't cribbed our self-starting device," exclaimed Peggy,
as she saw.
The next instant the propeller became a whirring blur, and the aeroplane,
after a brief preliminary run, began to climb upward. The morning sun
caught its silvered planes and turned them to gold. It was a beautiful and
inspiring sight. Even with all that lay at stake, Peggy and Roy could not
deny the machine a meed of praise.
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