"Oh, mister, what's that flapper for?" inquired a woman with a green
dress and a red parasol of old Schmidt, the owner of the eccentric
Green Grasshopper, indicating that machine's propeller.

"That's to keep the flies off, madam," gravely rejoined Billy Barnes,
who happened to be standing by, assisting Schmidt to adjust his
planes.

In the boys' aerodrome they were hard at work putting the finishing
touches on the Golden Eagle and adjusting the lever.

"I wish I knew where that fellow was. I would certainly have him
arrested and locked where he would be out of further mischief, for the
time being anyway," angrily exclaimed Frank, as they worked.

At last all was ready and the sudden call of a bugle caused the folks
who had brought lunches with them to hastily quit their meals in the
shade of the trees that bordered the road and hurry out on to the
field. They swarmed in such numbers that the judges of the course
found it impossible to keep them back of the rows of red flags, that
had been planted as a boundary mark, and therefore restraining ropes
were stretched on stakes that had been hastily driven into the ground.
This kept the throngs back effectually and gave the aviators clear
space for their starting maneuvers.

"Ta-ra-ta--Ta-ra-ta-tara--ta!"

The bugle rang out once more.

It was the signal for the competitors to make their appearance.