"He'd better fly soon, then, or he'll be in the ditch," said Tom
grimly, for a little, sluggish stream crossed the meadow not far
from where Andy had started.
The next instant, thinking he had momentum enough, Andy tilted his
elevation plane. The clumsy triplane rose into the air and shot
forward.
"There he goes!" cried Sam.
"Hurrah!" yelled the crowd.
Andy had gone up about ten feet, and was making slow progress.
"I guess Tom Swift isn't the only one in Shopton who can build an
airship!" sneered Pete Bailey.
"Look! Look!" yelled Ned. "He's coming down!"
Sure enough, Andy's machine had reached the end of her flight. The
motor stopped with something between a cough and a wheeze. Down
fluttered the aeroplane, like some clumsy bird, down into the ditch,
settling on one side, and then coming to rest, tilted over at a
sharp angle. Andy was pitched out, but landed on the soft mud, for
there had been a thaw. He wasn't hurt much, evidently, for he soon
scrambled to his feet as the crowd surged toward him.
"Well, he flew a little way," observed Ned, grimly.
"But he came down mighty soon," added Tom. "I thought he would. His
machine is too big and clumsy. I've seen enough. Come on, Ned. We'll
get ready to go to Alaska. Andy Foger will never follow us in that
machine.
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