Up they climbed, ascending the aerial stairway, while the crowd below stared up, at the risk of stiff necks in the immediate future.

Jimsy chose spiraling as his method of rising. But the others went upward in curious zigzags. This was because their machines were not equipped with the stability device, and they could not attempt the same tactics. Before long Jimsy was high above the others. From below he appeared a mere dot in the blue. But still he flew on.

Once he glanced at his barograph. It showed he had ascended 5,000 feet. It was higher than the boy had ever been before, but he kept perseveringly on.

It was cold up there in the regions of the upper air, and Jimsy found himself wishing he had put on a sweater.

"It's too long a drop to go down and get one," he remarked to himself, with grim humor.

Beneath him he could see the other aeroplanes; but the black one was the only one that appeared to be a serious rival. The rest did not seem to be trying very hard to reach a superlative height. The black machine, however, was steadily rising. After a while Jimsy could see the face of its occupant. It was the Cuban, Le Roy.

"Now, what's he trying to do, I wonder?" thought Jimsy, as the black biplane rose to the same level as himself and appeared to be going through some odd maneuvering.

"That's mighty funny," mused the boy, watching his rival; "I can't make out what he's up to."

Indeed the black biplane was behaving queerly. Now it would swoop toward Jimsy and then would dart, only to return. Suddenly it came driving straight at him.

It was then that Jimsy suddenly realized what his rival was trying to do. To use a slangy but expressive phrase, Le Roy, the veteran aviator, was trying to rattle the boy.

"So that's his game, is it," thought Jimsy; "well, I'll give him a surprise."

Manipulating his spark and gas levers the boy gave his graceful red craft full power. The Dragon shot sharply upward, crossing Le Roy's machine about twenty feet above its upper plane. Jimsy laughed aloud at the astonished expression on the man's face as he skimmed above him.

"I reckon he'll think that I do know something about driving an aeroplane, after all," he chuckled as he rose till his barograph recorded 6,000 feet.

Beneath him he could see Le Roy starting to descend. Something appeared to be wrong with the black biplane's motor. It acted sluggishly.

"Well, as he's going down I guess I will, too," said Jimsy to himself; "6,000 feet is by no means a record, but it's high enough for me."

Suddenly he was plunged into what appeared to be a wet and chilly fog.

In reality it was a cloud that had drifted in on him. It grew suddenly cold with an almost frosty chill. The moisture of the cloud drenched him to the skin. The lad shivered and his teeth chattered, but he kept pluckily to his task.

Before long he emerged into the sunlight once more. The crowd which had thrilled when the young aviator vanished into the vapor set up a yell when he reappeared. But at the height he was Jimsy, of course, did not hear it.

But as he dropped lower the shouts and cheers became plainly audible.

The lad waved his hand in acknowledgment. Then, as he neared the ground, he put his machine through a series of graceful evolutions that set the crowd wild.

"The alt.i.tude flight is won by Number Four," announced the officials after they had examined the barograph; "with a height of 6,000 feet.

Number Four is Mr. James Bancroft."

"Gee; that sounds real dignified," laughed Jimsy; "it's a treat to be treated with becoming dignity once in a while."

The next flight was a race six times round the course. This was won by one of the Kelly flyers. Then came an endurance contest which Roy captured handily and some exhibition flying in which Bess did some clever work and was delighted to find herself a winner.

It was soon after this that the gun was fired as a note of warning that the big race was about to begin.

Peggy's _Golden b.u.t.terfly_ and Roy's entry, the _Red Dragon_, borrowed for this race because the biplane was too heavy and clumsy for such fast work, were wheeled to the starting line. Already three of Kelly's machines were there, among them being that of Senora Le Roy, or, as she was billed, the Cuban Skylark, the Only Woman Flyer in the World. It appeared now that she had small claim to the t.i.tle. The crowd set up a cheer for her as she took her seat in a neat-looking monoplane of the Bleriot type.

But when Peggy's dapper figure, smartly attired in her aviation costume, appeared a still louder shout went up.

Kelly scowled blackly. He stepped up to his flyers.

"You've got to win this race or get fired," he snarled.

CHAPTER XXI.

PEGGY'S SPLENDID RACE.

"They're off!"

"Hurrah!"

"There they go!"

These and hundreds of other cries and exclamations followed the report of the starting gun. The Cuban woman flyer was off first, then came two other of the professional flyers, while Roy and Peggy got away last.

The race was to be sixty miles out to a small body of water called Lake Loon and return. A trolley line ran past the aviation grounds and out to the lake. For the guidance of the flyers a car with a huge American flag flying from it blazed a trail below them, as it were.

Roy's craft gained a slight lead on the _Golden b.u.t.terfly_ and two of the Kelly flyers were soon pa.s.sed by both the boy and his sister. But the professional woman flyer still maintained her lead. Second came another of Lish Kelly's aviators in a blue machine. This was Ben Speedwell, who enjoyed quite a reputation as a skillful and daring air driver.

The flyers had all struck a level about 1,500 feet in the air. There was a light head wind, but not enough to deter any of the powerfully engined craft. Glancing back for an instant Roy saw one of the contesting aviators dropping to earth. His companion soon followed.

"Overheated engines probably," thought the boy; "I must be careful the same thing doesn't happen to me going at this pace."

Suddenly another aeroplane loomed up beside him. It was the _Golden b.u.t.terfly_.

"Good for you, sis!" cried Roy, as Peggy, waving her hand, roared past.

In another minute she had shot past Speedwell, but the leader, the woman flyer, was still some distance ahead, and appeared to steadily maintain the lead she had.

At last Lake Loon came into view. It was a more or less shallow body of water with a small island in the middle of it. As they neared it Speedwell and Roy were flying almost abreast, with Speedwell just a shade in the lead.

Suddenly Speedwell made a spurt and shot ahead of the _Dragon_. At a distance of half a mile from Roy, who was now last, Speedwell was above the lake.

Peggy and the woman flyer had already turned and were on their way back, with the latter still in the lead. Roy was watching Speedwell intently.

He saw the man bank his machine to take the curve in order to round the lake. An appalling climax followed.

"He's turned too sharp. He'll never make it," exclaimed Roy, holding his breath.

The aeroplane swayed madly. Then began a fierce fight on Speedwell's part to settle it on an even keel. But skillful as he was he could not master the overbalanced machine.

"He is lost!" breathed Roy, every nerve athrill.

And then the next minute: