"I don't know—a breakdown of some kind."
"Can you get it going again?"
"I'm going to try."
Tom was manipulating various levers, but with no effect. The aeroplane was shooting downward with frightful rapidity.
"No use!" exclaimed the young inventor. "Something has broken."
"But we're falling, Tom!"
"I know it. We've done it before. I'm going to volplane to earth."
This, it may be explained, is gliding downward from a height with the engine shut off. Aeroplanists often do it, and Tom was no novice at the art.
They shot downward with less speed now, for the young inventor had thrown up his headplanes to act as a sort of brake. Then, a little later they made a good landing in a field near a small house, in a rather lonely stretch of country, about ten miles from Shopton, where Tom lived.
"Now to see what the trouble is," remarked our hero, as he climbed out of his seat and began looking over the engine. He poked in among the numerous cogs, wheels and levers, and finally uttered an exclamation.
"Find it?" asked Ned.
"Yes, it's in the magneto. All the platinum
