Slowly he crept on them. They looked back and saw him coming. They tried
to put on more speed, but it was impossible. Andy Foger was in the lead.
He was being slowly overhauled by the Santos-Dumont, with the queer
tail-rudders.
"I'll get him!" muttered Tom. "I'll pass 'em all!"
And he did. With a wonderful burst of speed the little Humming-Bird
overtook one after another of her larger rivals, and passed them. Then
she crept up on Andy's Slugger.
In an instant more it was done, and, a good length in advance of the
Foger craft, Tom shot over the finish line a winner, richer by ten
thousand dollars, and, not only that, but he had picked up a mile that
had been lost, and had snatched victory from almost certain defeat.
There was a succession of thundering cheers as he shut off the motor,
and volplaned to earth, but he paid little attention to them. He brought
his craft to a stop just as the wireless on it buzzed again.
He listened with a look of pain on his face.
"My father is dying," he said simply.
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