a thought of blessing anything now, unless he did it silently, was watching the lubricating system. This was a vital part of the craft, for if anything went wrong with it, and the bearings overheated, the race would have to be abandoned. So Tom was not trusting to any automatic arrangement, but had instituted, almost at the last moment, a duplicate hand-worked system, so that if one failed him he would have the other.
"A good start!" shouted Mr. Damon in his ear.
Tom nodded, and glanced behind him. On a line with the Humming-Bird, and at about the same elevation, were the Bleriot monoplane and a Wright biplane. Below were the Santos-Dumont and the Antoinette.
"Where's the Slugger?" called Tom to his friend.
Mr. Damon motioned upward. There, in the air above Tom's machine, and slightly in advance, was Andy Foger's craft. He had gotten away in better shape than had the Humming-Bird.
For a moment Tom's heart misgave him. Then he turned on more power, and had the satisfaction of mounting upward and shooting onward until he was on even terms with Andy.
The bully gave one glance over toward his rival, and pulled a lever. The Slugger increased
