"Motor's stalled," replied the young inventor.
"An', by golly, we's falling!" yelled the colored man.
Naturally, with the stopping of the propeller, there was no further straight, forward motion to the monoplane, and, following the law of nature, it began to drop toward the earth on a slant.
"We's fallin'! We'll be killed!" yelled the negro.
"It's all right, I'll just vol-plane back to earth," spoke Tom, calmly. "I've often done it before, higher up than this. Sit still, Rad, I'm vol-planing back to the ground."
"An' I'll jump back to de ground; dat's what I'll do. I ain't goin' t' wait until I falls, no sah! An' I ain't gwine t' do none ob dat ball-playin' yo' speak ob, Massa Swift. It's no time t' play ball when yo' life am in danger. I'se gwine t' jump."
"Sit still!" cried Tom, for the colored man was about to spring from his seat. "There's no danger! I didn't say anything about playing ball. I said I'd vol-plane back to the earth. We'll be there shortly. I'll take you down safe. Sit still, Rad!"
He spoke so earnestly that the fears of his colored passenger were quelled. With a quick motion Tom threw up the head planes, to check
