Working with all the skill he possessed, Tom had got the
aeroplane in proper working order again. As has been said, the
accident was a trivial one, and had he been alone, or with an
experienced aviator, he would have thought little of it. Then,
very likely, he would have volplaned to earth and made the
repairs there. But he did not want to frighten Mary Nestor, so he
fixed the control while gliding along, and made light of it. Thus
his passenger was reassured.

"Are we all right?" asked Mary through the tube, as they sailed
along.

"Right as a fiddle," answered Tom, shouting through the same
means of communication.

"What's that about a riddle?" asked Mary, in surprise at his
seeming flippancy at such a time.

"I didn't say anything about a riddle--I said we are as fit as
a fiddle!" cried Tom. "Never mind. No use trying to talk with the
racket this motor makes, and it isn't the noisiest of its kind,
either. I'll tell you when we get down. Do you like it?"

"Yes, I like it better than I did at first," answered Mary, for
she had managed to understand the last of Tom's questions. Then
he sailed a little higher, circled about, and, a little later,
not to get Mary too tired and anxious, he headed for his landing
field.