some brief advice to Dave in his characteristic way.

Then he directed and helped, while two field men started the machine
on its forward run.

"Look out for telegraph poles, and watch your fuel tank," was
Grimshaw's final injunction.

Dave knew the Baby Racer just as an engineer understands his
locomotive. Daylight or dirk, once aloft the young aviator did not
doubt his own powers. The moment the Racer left the ground,
however, with a switch of her flapping tail, Dave knew that he was
to have no easy fair-weather cruise.

"Slow it is," the watchful, excited Hiram heard him say, working the
wheel as cautiously as an automobilist rounding a sharp curve.

Dave saw that everything depended on getting a start and reaching a
higher level. He kept the angle of ascent small, for the maximum
power of the engine could not be reached in a moment. The starting
speed naturally let down with the machine ascending an inclined
plane.

"It's slow enough, that's sure," remarked Hiram. "It's the wind,
isn't it, Dave?"

"We don't want to slide back in the air or be blown over backwards,"
replied Dave, eye, ear, and nerve on the keenest alert.

The wind resistance caused a growing speed reduction. The