at the same time, and it's going to make it more difficult. However, I
daresay we shall be able to manage it all right."

"Oh, Frank, do be careful," cautioned his mother.

"Of course I will, mother," the lad reassured her. "If I thought there
was any serious risk I would not cause you anxiety by competing."

After a little more talk the elder Chesters drove off, as the boys had
decided to sleep in their aerodrome that night, on the two camp cots
they had provided for such emergencies. They intended to get an early
start in the morning, on another practice sail, as at that hour there
was usually little wind.

As they strolled across the grounds which were now rapidly being
deserted, as all the aeroplanes were housed for the night, they
encountered Armand Malvoise, the French driver of the mysterious
Buzzard. He was a heavy-set, blue-chinned man with eyebrows that met
in a black band, lending his face a perpetual scowl.

"You made a fine flight this evening," cried Harry cheerfully.

"You think so?" replied the Frenchman. "I shall make a better one on
the day of the race. I mean to win that cup."

"Well, give us at least a look-in," laughed Frank good-naturedly.

"Bah, you are boys. I am a seasoned aviator. I have flown at Rheims
and Vienna and in the south. It is absurd for you to compete with me."