seemed like solid pieces of wood. Tom stood on the ground near the levers which controlled the speed, and Ned watched the scale.
"How much?" yelled the young inventor.
"Eight hundred."
Tom turned on a little more gasolene.
"How much?" he cried again.
"Ten hundred. That'll do!"
"No, I'm going to try for more. Again he advanced the spark and gasolene levers, and the comparatively frail craft vibrated so that it seemed as if she would fly apart.
"Now?" yelled Tom.
"Eleven hundred and fifty!" cried Ned.
"Good! That'll do it. She'll give more after she's been running a while. We'll go up."
Ned scrambled to his seat, and Tom followed. He had an arrangement so that he could slip loose the retaining rope from his perch whenever he was ready.
Waiting until the motor had run another minute, the young inventor pulled the rope that released them. Over the smooth starting ground that formed a part of the Swift homestead darted the aeroplane. Faster and faster she moved, Ned gripping the sides of his seat.
"Here we go!" cried Tom, and the next instant they shot up into the air.
