no fun landing in a city. No room to run along, after you're down."
"What's the matter with Franklin Field?" cried Mr. Damon. "Out where they play football."
"Good! The very thing!" shouted Tom.
"Mr. Fenwick lives near there," went on Mr. Damon, and Tom nodded comprehendingly.
They were now over North Philadelphia, and, in a few minutes more were above the Quaker City itself. They were flying rather low, and as the people in the streets became aware of their presence there was intense excitement. Tom steered for the big athletic field, and soon saw it in the distance.
With a suddenness that was startling the motor ceased its terrific racket. The monoplane gave a sickening dip, and Tom had to adjust the wing tips and rudder quickly to prevent it slewing around at a dangerous angle.
"What's the matter?" cried Mr. Damon. "Did you shut it off on purpose?"
"No!" shouted Tom. "Something's gone wrong!"
"Gone wrong! Bless my overshoes! Is there any danger?"
"We'll have to vol-plane to earth," answered Tom, and there was a grim look on his face. He had never executed this feat with a passenger
