wonder—of fear. But Tom and Mr. Damon could not hear them. They only heard the powerful song of the motor.
Faster and faster flew the Humming-Bird. Tom looked down, and saw the signal put up which meant that there were but three miles more to go. He felt that he could do it. He was half a lap ahead of them all now. But he saw Andy Foger's machine pulling away from the bunch.
"He's going to try to catch me!" exulted Tom.
Then something happened. The motor of the Humming-Bird suddenly slackened its speed, it missed explosions, and the trim little craft began to drop behind.
"What's the matter?" cried Mr. Damon.
"Three of the cylinders are out of business!" yelled Tom. "We're done for, I guess."
On came the other machines, Andy in the lead, then the Santos-Dumont, then the Farman, and lastly the Wright. They saw the plight of the Humming-Bird and determined to beat her. Tom cast a despairing look up at the motor. There was nothing to be done. He could not reach it in mid-air. He could only keep on, crippled as he was, and trust to luck.
Andy passed by his rival with an evil smile on his ugly face. Then the Antoinette flashed by. In turn all the others left Tom in the rear.
