But, alas! again. No eagle soared, but, on the contrary, that
ordinary proud bird buried its head in the grass.

The people were dissatisfied. They made sarcastic remarks. Some
of them howled angrily. The aged man who had before spoken said,
"No, Reuben, you evidently don't understand pyrotechny."

Pettingill boiled with rage and disappointment.

"You don't understand pyrotechny!" the masses shouted.

Then they laughed in a disagreeable manner, and some unfeeling
lads threw dirt at our hero.

"You don't understand pyrotechny!" the masses yelled again.

"Don't I?" screamed Pettingill, wild with rage; "don't you think
I do?"

Then seizing several gigantic rockets he placed them over a box
of powder, and touched the whole off.

THIS rocket went up. It did, indeed.

There was a terrific explosion.

No one was killed, fortunately; though many were injured.

The platform was almost torn to pieces.