"Nonsense," returned the bully. "And what if they do? We covered up our tracks too well for them to have anything on us. They can't prove anything, can they?"

"I--I--I don't know," stammered Sam, and was about to say more, but the clarion voice of the announcer was heard informing the crowd that:

"John Curtiss' Bleriot model will now make a flight for the great prize."

With a confident smile on his face, Jack stepped forward and held his model ready. The murmur of admiration that had greeted its first appearance was repeated as he held it high in the sunlight and the afternoon rays glinted and shimmered on its fittings and wings.

"That's the model for my money," remarked a man in the crowd.

"It's going to win, too," said Jack confidently.

Just at that moment the pistol cracked, and Jack released his much-admired air craft.

Its flight showed that it was as capable of making as beautiful a soaring excursion as its graceful outlines and careful finish seemed to indicate. In a long, sweeping glide, it arose and cleared the red tape by a greater margin than had Paul Perkins' model.

"Jack Curtiss wins!" yelled the crowd, as the machine soared right on and did not begin its downward swoop for some distance. After it had alighted and the measurers had laid their tapes on the course, the announcer megaphoned, amid a perfect tornado of roars and cheers:

"The last flight, ladies and gentlemen--and apparently the winning one--accomplished the remarkable distance of four hundred and fifty feet--four hundred and fifty feet."

"Three cheers for Jack Curtiss!" shouted Bill Bender, slapping Jack heartily on the back and giving most of the cheers himself.

"I guess those cubs won't be quite so stuck up now," commented Sam, shaking Jack's hand warmly.

"I was pretty sure I'd win," modestly remarked the bully, as he began shouldering his way through the press toward the judges' stand. He was closely followed by the boys, as it looked as if Paul Perkins might have won the second prize and Ed Rivers the third.

Urged by Bill Bender, the band began puffing away at "See, the Conquering Hero Comes," and Jack, nothing averse to appearing in such a role, bowed gracefully right and left to the admiring throngs.

The professor shook hands warmly with the victorious Jack, and remarked:

"You are to be congratulated, young man. I have rarely seen a better model, and your skill does you great credit. Are you thinking of taking up aeronautics seriously?"

The bully, his face very red, stammered that he had entertained some such thoughts.

The professor was about to reply, when there came a sudden sound of confusion among that portion of the crowd which had surrounded the delegates deputed to pick up the aeroplanes and bring them to the stand. This was in order that they might be exhibited as each prize was awarded. A small boy with a very excited face was seen struggling to get through the ma.s.s, and he finally gained the judges' stand. As he faced the congratulatory professor he stuttered out:

"Please, sir, there's something wrong about Jack Curtiss' machine."

"What do you mean, you impudent young shaver!" shouted the bully, turning white, nevertheless.

"Let the lad speak," said Mr. Blake, who as one of the committee was standing beside the professor. "What is it, my boy? Let me see.

You're Joe Digby, of the Eagle Patrol, aren't you."

"Yes, sir; and I live out on a farm near Jack Curtiss. I was watching him fly his machine this morning, from behind a hedge, and I heard them saying something about 'their store-made machine beating any country boy's model.'"

"He's a young liar! Pay no attention to him," stammered Jack, licking his dry lips.

"Silence, sir!" said Mr. Blake gravely. "Let us listen to what this boy has to say. If he is not speaking the truth, you can easily disprove it. Go on, my boy."

"Well, I guess that's about all I know about it: but I thought I ought to tell you, sir," confusedly concluded the small lad.

"You young runt, I'll half kill you if I catch you alone!" breathed Jack, under his breath, as the lad sped off to join his companions.

"Of course, you are not going to pay any attention to that kid's--I mean boy's--story," demanded Jack, addressing the professor. "It's made out of whole cloth, I a.s.sure you."

In the meantime the machines had been brought to the grand stand and were being examined. Naturally, after young Digby's statement, Jack's was one of the first to be scrutinized. The committee turned it over and over, and were about to pa.s.s on it, when Mr. Wingate, who had been bending attentively over the bully's model, gave a sudden exclamation.

"Look here, gentlemen," he cried, pointing to a small tag which Jack had evidently forgotten to remove, "I think this is conclusive evidence. Here is the label of the 'Manhattan Model Works' pasted right under this wing."

"Somebody must have put it there. It's a job those Boy Scouts put up on me," protested Tack. "I made that model every bit myself."

"I regret to say that we must regard the price tag as conclusive evidence that this machine comes from a store," said the professor sternly, handing Jack his unlucky model. "You are disqualified for entering a machine not of your own workmanship.

"Stand back, please," he went on, as Jack tried to protest. "I want to say," he went on in a loud tone, holding up his hand to command attention, "that there has been a grave mistake made. The machine which actually flew the longest distance is disqualified, as it was made at a New York model factory. The first prize of fifty dollars, therefore, goes to Paul Perkins, of the Boy Scouts, the second to Edward Rivers, of Hampton, and the third to Hiram Green, also of the Boy Scouts.

"Hold on one minute," he shouted, as the crowd began to cheer and hoot.

"There is an additional announcement to be made. The committee has decided to offer a further reward of five dollars to Thomas Maloney, whose model shows evidence of praiseworthy and painstaking work."

As the cheers broke loose once more, Jack Curtiss and his cronies slunk off through the crowd, and having placed the rejected model in the buggy, drove off into the country in no very amiable or enviable frame of mind.

"Well, you made a fine mess of it," grumbled Bill Bender savagely. "I told you to look carefully and see that all the tags were off it."

"It's no more my fault than yours," grated out Jack, lashing the horse savagely, to work off some of his rage. "It's all the fault of those young cubs of Rob Blake's. Let them look out, though, for I'll get even with them before long, and in a way that will make them sit up and take notice."

"Don't forget that young mischief maker, Joe Digby," suggested Bill Bender. "It was all his fault--the young spy!"

"Oh, I'll attend to him," Jack a.s.sured his chum, with a grating laugh that boded no good for the youngest member of the Eagle Patrol.

CHAPTER XI

A FORTUNATE DISCOVERY

"Want to go fishing?" Rob inquired over the telephone of Merritt Crawford a few days later.

"Sure," was the response.

"We can run into Topsail Island and get a site for the camp picked at the same time," suggested Rob.

"Bully! I'll meet you at the wharf. Going to bring Tubby?"

"You bet! We'll be there in ten minutes."

"All right. Good-by."

At the time set the three boys met on the wharf of the yacht club, and were speedily ready to start on their trip. Rob brought along bluefish squids and lines, and Tubby--never at a loss to scare up a hurried lunch--had a basket full of good things to eat.