June 28th came quickly, obliging the patient aviators to beg another extension of time. They were granted thirty days longer, which seemed to them more than necessary; but in this judgment they were mistaken. One accident after another delayed the consummation of their official task of flying one hour above the field, then five miles across country and return. Finally, on July 27th, Orville Wright, who was making all the flights, took with him Lieut. Frank P. Lahm, and sailed gloriously for one hour, twelve minutes and forty seconds, before ten thousand delighted spectators. It was an ideal summer evening, and all the maneuvers were performed with excellent poise, security and grace. A new world’s record was established. Now all the vast throng from the President and his cabinet to the simplest laborer, appreciating the achievement as a triumph for America and for humanity, burst forth into prolonged acclamation and applause. The cross-country flight was next in order. The course from Fort Myer to Alexandria lay over scattered forests and a deep valley. The flight seemed a difficult and hazardous enterprise; but the brothers, confiding in their machine, seemed to have little apprehension of failure or peril. Indeed, they seemed most concerned about the bonus to be secured by flying at an average rate exceeding the contract speed of 40 miles an hour; for each additional mile an hour would pay them $2,500 above the normal price of the aëroplane. They accordingly declined to fly in any but very calm weather, no matter how vast the gathering of visitors, or how illustrious. They wished, of course, to expedite the final and crucial test; but they could not always have ideal conditions, and would not take undue chances. On the evening after the endurance test the engine balked, owing to the clogging of a rubber pipe from the gasoline tank. Dusk came on, and the disappointed crowd went home to a late dinner. The Secretary of War, who was present, very kindly granted a third extension of time, covering the rest of the month. Next evening it was a trifle breezy. Wilbur Wright announced that the flight could be made, but that the bonus would be less than on a still evening; he would therefore wait for calmer weather. Twelve thousand people were turned away disappointed. There was muttering among the impatient and warm of blood. It was remarked that the War Department could easily drop these procrastinated experiments and buy a practical aëroplane in the open market for $5,000. But the discommoded officers good-naturedly allowed the thrifty sons of Dayton to have their way in striving for a large bonus, beyond the normal price of $25,000.