There was not much for Dave to do. Only the noon of that day they had got the little biplane ready for a cross country spurt. Then the rain came on, and they decided to defer the dash till the weather was more propitious. Dave was looking over the machinery, when a gruff hail startled him. "Hello!" challenged old Grimshaw, appearing at the open doorway of the hangar. "What you up to, Dashaway?" Dave flushed guiltily. He was dreadfully embarrassed to be "caught in the act" as it were, by his great friend, the old airman. "Why--you see, Mr. Grimshaw--" stammered Dave. "Yes, of course I see," retorted the old man firmly. "You're going to start out a night like this." "I've got to, Mr. Grimshaw," declared Dave desperately. "Business, eh?" "Of the most important kind." "What is it?" It was in order for Dave to explain details, and did so briefly. "H'm," commented Grimshaw, when his pupil concluded his explanation. "And so you thought you'd steal away without letting me know it?" "Oh, now, Mr. Grimshaw!" Dave hastened to say--"that was not the spirit of the thing at all." "Go ahead, Dashaway." "Well, then, I think so very much of you I didn't want it to worry you." "Roll her out," was all that Grimshaw would say, placing his one hand on the tail of the biplane. "Hold on for a minute. Gasoline supply?" "Twenty-five gallons." "That will do. Lubricating oil-all right. Now then, lad, hit that head wind every time, and you'll make it, sure." CHAPTER III A WILD NIGHT RIDE "Go!" It was less than half an hour after the appearance of Grimshaw on the scene that the Baby Racer was all ready for its stormy night's flight. The old aviator had fussed and poked about the dainty little biplane, as if it was some valued friend he was sending out into the world to try its fortune. Every once in a while he had growled out some brief advice to Dave in his characteristic way. Then he directed and helped, while two field men started the machine on its forward run. "Look out for telegraph poles, and watch your fuel tank," was Grimshaw's final injunction. Dave knew the Baby Racer just as an engineer understands his locomotive. Daylight or dirk, once aloft the young aviator did not doubt his own powers. The moment the Racer left the ground, however, with a switch of her flapping tail, Dave knew that he was to have no easy fair-weather cruise. "Slow it is," the watchful, excited Hiram heard him say, working the wheel as cautiously as an automobilist rounding a sharp curve. Dave saw that everything depended on getting a start and reaching a higher level. He kept the angle of ascent small, for the maximum power of the engine could not be reached in a moment. The starting speed naturally let down with the machine ascending an inclined plane. "It's slow enough, that's sure," remarked Hiram. "It's the wind, isn't it, Dave?"