the awful speed of the
motor, like a thing alive. She seemed to rush forward as an eagle
dropping down from a dizzy height upon some hapless prey.

"Faster yet!" murmured Tom. "We must go faster yet!"

The motor was warming up. Streaks of fire came from it. The exhaust of
the explosions was a continuous roar. Faster and faster flew the frail
craft.

Around and around the air course she circled. The wind appeared to be
rushing beneath the planes and rudders with the velocity of a
hurricane. Had it not been for the face protectors they wore, Tom and
Mr. Damon could not have breathed. For ten minutes this fearful speed
was kept up. Then Tom, knowing he had run the motor to the limit,
slowed it down. Next he shut it off completely, and prepared to
volplane back to earth. The silence after the terrific racket was
almost startling. For a moment neither of the aviators spoke. Then Mr.
Damon said:

"Do you think you did it, Tom?"

"I don't know. We'll soon find out. They'll have the record." And he
motioned toward the earth, which they were rapidly nearing.

Chapter Fifteen

A Noise in the Night

"Well, did I make it? Make any kind of a record?" asked Tom eagerly, as
he brought the trim little craft to a stop, after it had rolled along
the ground on the bicycle wheels.

"What do you think you did?" asked Mr. Jackson, who had been busy
figuring on a slip of paper.

"Did I get her up to ninety miles an hour?" inquired Tom eagerly. "If I
did, I know when the motor wears down a bit smoother that I can make
her hit a hundred in the race, easily. Did I touch ninety, Mr. Jackson?"

"Better than that, Tom! Better than that!" cried his father.

"Yes," joined in Mr. Jackson. "Allowing for the difference in our
watches, Tom, your father and I figure that you did the course at the
rate of one hundred and twelve miles an hour!"

"One hundred and twelve!" gasped the young inventor, hardly able to
believe it.

"I made it a hundred and fifteen," said Mr. Swift, who was almost as
pleased as was his son, "and Mr. Jackson made it one hundred and
eleven; so we split the difference, so to speak. You certainly have a
sky racer, Tom, my boy!"

"And I'll need it, too, dad, if I'm to compete with Andy Foger, who may
have a machine almost like mine."

"But I thought you were going to object to him if he has," said Mr.
Damon, who had hardly recovered from the speedy flight through space.

"Well, I was just providing fo