Whatever else Mortlake might be--and
Lieut. Bradbury had not taken a violent fancy to him--he was a master of
the aerial craft.
Despite the mishap to the engine--caused by his own carelessness--Mortlake
managed to bring the _Silver Cobweb_ to a gentle landing in a broad, flat
meadow, inhabited by some spotted cows, which fled in undignified panic as
the monster, silent now, swooped down like a bolt from the blue.
The instant the _Silver Cobweb_ came to rest Mortlake's restless eyes
glanced upward. He was hoping against all common sense that the young
Prescotts had not seen his mishap, or at least that they would pass on
above him unnoticing. His first glance showed him the _Golden Butterfly_
still steadily plugging along, and a moment later it became apparent that
they had seen the sudden descent of the _Cobweb_, for the aeroplane was
seen to dip and glide lower, much as a mousing hawk can be seen to do.
"Hard luck," murmured the young naval officer, as Mortlake, who had
clambered out of the machine, stamped and fumed by its side. Inwardly
Lieut. Bradbury was thinking how stubborn men invariably meet with some
mishap or accident.
"Yes, beastly hard luck," agreed Mortlake readily. "I see a farm-house
over there, though, the other side of those trees. I guess I can get a
bucket and some water over there.
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