For one instant the thought flashed across him that they were
disabled. An unholy glee filled him at the thought. If only the _Golden
Butterfly_ were to come to grief right under Lieut. Bradbury's eyes, it
would be a great feather in the cap of the Mortlake-Harding machine.
But, to his chagrin, he saw them rise the next instant, as cleverly as
ever. Lieut. Bradbury, who had been watching the maneuver of the _Golden
Butterfly_, gave an admiring gasp, as he witnessed the daring feat.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, and the evident note of astonishment and
appreciation in his tones did not tend to increase Mortlake's
self-satisfaction.
"The pesky brats," he muttered to himself; "we've got to do something to
put them out of the race. There isn't another American-built aeroplane
that I fear except that bothersome kids' machine."
And there and then Mortlake began to hatch up a scheme that in the near
future was to come very nearly proving disastrous to Peggy and Roy and
their high hopes.
"Magnificently handled, don't you think so, Mortlake?" inquired the naval
officer, the next instant.
"Yes, very clever," agreed Mortlake, far too smart to show his inward
feelings, or to wear his heart upon his sleeve; "very neat. But I can do
the same thing if you'd care to see it?"
The naval officer glanced at the puffy features of his companion and his
thick, bull-like neck.
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