"Say, those boys can fly!"

"I should say so."

"Did you see that swoop!"

"Did I? I thought they were goners sure."

"They handle that sky-clipper like a bicycle."

These admiring exclamations came in a perfect hailstorm as the big
biplane air-craft, which had called them forth, swept earthward,
bearing her two young occupants downward in a long graceful glide, and
landing them at the door of their red aerodrome with the precision of
an automobile being driven up to its owner's front steps.

The drone of the engine ceased and little spurts of dust shot up from
the landing wheels as the young aviator at the helm of the beautiful
craft applied his brakes, threw out the spark and cut off the engine.
The plane ran about one hundred feet on its wheels and then came to a
standstill.

"Hurrah for the Golden Eagle!" shouted a voice. The enthusiasm was
echoed all over the crowded field. From the long rows of autos, parked
at the edge of the field and crowded with applauding men and women,
came the "honk! honk!" of horns in a deafening clamor.

Smilingly making their way through the enthusiasts who swept down on
them, Frank and Harry Chester, the Boy Aviators, who had just
concluded a tuning up flight for the Hempstead Plains Cup--the contest