But, to his horror, the dry cells had given
out. There was no way of getting a spark unless the little electrical
machine would work.
The propellers were still whirring around by their own momentum, and if
Tom could switch in the magneto in time all might yet be well.
They had started to fall, but, by quickly bringing up the head plane
tips, Tom sent his craft soaring upward again on a bank of air.
"Here!" he cried to Mr. Damon. "Take the steering-wheel and kept her on
this level as long as you can."
"What are you going to do?"
"I've got to fix that magneto!"
"But if she dips down?"
"Throw up the head planes as I did. It's our only chance! I can't go
down now, so far from Shopton!"
Mr. Damon reached over and took the wheel from Tom's hands. Then the
young inventor, leaning forward, for the magneto was within easy reach,
looked to see what the trouble was. He found it quickly. A wire had
vibrated loose from a binding-post. In a second Tom had it in place
again; and, ere the propellers had ceased revolving, he had turned the
switch.
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