worked feverishly. Tad Warren, the second contestant, was testing
out his motor, ready to go. At that moment Martin Dockerill suggested
that the carburetor was dirty.

"I'll fly with her the way she is," Carl snapped, shivering with the
race-fever.

A cub reporter from the City News Association piped, like a
fox-terrier, "What time 'll you get off, Hawk?"

"Ten sharp."

"No, I mean what time will you really get off!"

Carl did not answer. He understood that the reporters were doubtful
about him, the youngster from the West who had been flying for only
six months. At last came the inevitable pest, the familiarly
suggestive outsider. A well-dressed, well-meaning old bore he was; a
complete stranger. He put his podgy hand on Carl's arm and puffed:
"Well, Hawk, my boy, give us a good flight to-day; not but what you're
going to have trouble. There's something I want to suggest to you. If
you'd use a gyroscope----"

"Oh, beat it!" snarled Carl. He was ashamed of himself--but more angry
than ashamed. He demanded of Martin, aside: "All right, heh? Can I fly
with the carburetor as she is? Heh?"

"All right, boss. Calm down, boss, calm down."

"What do you mean?"

"Look here, Hawk, I don't want to butt in. You can have old Martin for
a chopping-block any time you want to cut wood. But if you don't calm
down you'll get so screwed up mit nerves that you won't have any
control. Aw, come on, boss, speak pretty! Just keep your shirt on and
I'll hustle like a steam-engine."

"Well, maybe you're right. But these assistant aviators in the crowd
get me wild.... All right? Hoorray. Here goes.... Say, don't stop for
anything after I get off. Leave the boys to pack up, and you hustle
over to Sea Cliff for the speed-boat. You ought to be in New Haven
almost as soon as I am."

Calmer now, he peeled off his overalls, drew a wool-lined leather
jacket over his coat, climbed into the cockpit, and inspected the
indicators. As he was testing the spark Tad Warren got away.

Third and last was Carl. The race-fever shook him.

He would try to save time. Like the others, he had planned to fly from
Belmont Park across Long Island to Great Neck, and cross Long Island
Sound where it was very narrow. He studied his map. By flying across
to the vicinity of Hempstead Harbor and making a long diagonal flight
over water, straight over to Stamford, he would increase the factor of
danger, but save many miles; and the specifications of the race
p