to do it?" asked Paul. "You can't send back a
story now, and we'd have to make a descent to use the wireless," Dick's
craft being so fitted up.

"I'll just write a little note, telling the editor to get the story
from the Associated Press correspondent who is covering this meet,"
Larry answered. "All they need in the Leader office is a 'tip.'
They'll do the rest. But I'll just give them a few pointers as to how
things went on here."

He hastily dashed off a story and enclosed it in one of several leather
cylinders he had provided for this purpose. Each one had a sort of
miniature parachute connected to it, and a flag to attract attention as
it shot down.

Enclosing his story in one of these Larry dropped it, as he had done
before, trusting that it would be picked up and forwarded. The plan
always worked well.

The leather messenger fell on the aviation field, and our friends had
the satisfaction of seeing several men running to pick it up, so Larry
knew his plan would be successful.

The Abaris was now speeding along at the top notch, and for a few
minutes Dick allowed her to soar through the air in this fashion. And
then, having some regard for his engines, he cut down the gasolene, and
slowed up.

"No use tearing her heart out," he remarked.

"There's time enough to rush on the last lap. I wonder if we'll have a
race at the end?"

"I shouldn't be surprised," Mr. Vardon answered. "A number of
celebrated aviators are planning to compete for this prize, and some
may already be on the way across the continent ahead of us."

"Then there's your Uncle Ezra," put in Paul.

"Poor Uncle Ezra," spoke Dick, musingly. "He certainly has treated me
mean, at times, but I can't help feeling sorry for him. Every time he
has to buy five gallons of gasolene, or some oil, he'll imagine he's
getting ready to go to the poorhouse. He certainly was not cut out for
an aviator, and I certainly was surprised when he built that airship."

"He's being used by that fellow Larson, I'm sure of that," declared Mr.
Vardon. "Your Uncle Ezra has fallen into the hands of a scoundrel,
Dick."

"Well, I'm sorry for that, of course," said the young millionaire,
"but, do you know, I think it will do Uncle Ezra good to lose some of
his money. He's got more than he needs, and he can afford to spend
some on aviation. Someone, at least the workmen, and those who sell
materials and supplies, will get the benefit of it."

The aircraft