ness was gone. The cuts, of course, remained, and he bound these up with extra strips of adhesive plaster. The three lads had an early breakfast, and by half-past seven o'clock were in the touring car, bound for Rayville.
"How are you going to get the biplane back here, even if you do find it?" questioned their uncle, before they started off.
"I don't know," answered Dick. "It will depend on what condition the Dartaway is in. She may be so broken up as to be unfit for anything, and then it wouldn't pay to move her."
"Well, better not attempt to fly in the craft," cautioned Randolph Rover.
"Hardly," said Tom. "Maybe we'll telephone for Captain Colby to come and get her."
Tom was at the wheel of the touring car and, once the farm was left behind, and they were on a fairly good country road, he advanced the spark and the gasoline control until they were running at twenty-five and then thirty miles an hour.
"Now, don't get gay, Tom!" warned Dick. "This road wasn't built for racing."
"Pooh, what's thirty miles an hour!" declared the fun-loving Rover, who just then felt like "letting out." "You know this machine can make fifty and better, Dick."
