From every shed on the grounds there issued strange birdlike air-craft
of different designs--in fact only a few of the machines were
practicable at all. The others were destined for the scrap-heap. Their
owners, however, all fairly beamed with pride, as their various
masterpieces were trundled forth and took the places assigned them by
the judges of the Aero Club.

The Golden Eagle, of course, received a burst of applause, for the Boy
Aviators were by this time quite well known. The Buzzard, too, as her
inkhued shape loomed up, came in for a buzz of admiration. Malvoise,
in a leathern jacket of black, with black leggings, gauntlets and
goggles, instantly set to work on a final inspection, looking like
some species of sable imp as he dodged in and out among the intricate
wires.

As for Frank, he contented himself with sending the Golden Eagle
engine up and down the speed scale from 100 to 1500 revolutions a
minute. All her cylinders worked perfectly and the steady drone,
rising in intensity as her young owner speeded the mechanism up,
showed that the motor of the big craft meant to get down to work
without a skip or a break.

Inasmuch as most of the other contestants were testing their engines
at the same time the uproar was deafening. The sweep of the propellers
created back draughts that swept off the spectators' hats and gave the
men who were holding on to the struggling machines all they could do
to keep them from getting away. They were like so many restive
race-horses breathing blue flames and spouting smoke.