“Oh, two tramps like that wouldn’t have the sense to make any use of what they know,” rejoined Fanning easily, “besides——­”

But Regina Mortlake’s mind was busy on another tack.

“Isn’t it against the rules for women or girls to drive machines in this contest?” she asked.

“Say!” Fanning’s eyes glistened, “I guess it is.  Let’s find out.  If Peggy Prescott is going to drive that machine we may be able to head them off yet.”

The two conspirators hastened across the field to the unpainted wooden shack that housed the committee.  A crowd surged about it asking questions and demanding impossible things.  It was some time before Fanning, elbowing people right and left as he was, could reach the front.  He scanned a printed list of the entries for the contest hung on the wall.  As he read it he blamed himself bitterly for not looking at it the day before.  Near the bottom was the name “Nameless, entrant Miss Margaret Prescott.”

Suddenly the disgruntled youth spied Lieut.  Bradbury.

“A moment,” he cried.  As the young officer turned, Fanning, without a word of greeting, bellowed out: 

“Ain’t it against the rules for a girl to drive an aeroplane in this contest.”

“Not that I am aware of,” rejoined the officer.  He reached over to a stack of pink booklets.

“Here’s a book of rules.  Read it.”

“Hold on,” cried Fanning, as the officer moved off, “I want to make a protest I——­”

“Make your protest in writing.  No verbal ones will be considered,” said the officer briefly.

“But see here——­”

“I’ve no time to talk now, Mr. Harding.  Good morning,” and the officer passed on.

The crowd began to grin, and soon laughed openly.  This enraged Fanning the more.  He angrily shoved his way to the outskirts where Regina was awaiting him.

“Well?” she said, lifting her dark eyebrows.

“Well,” echoed Fanning in a surly tone, “it’s no go.”

“No go.  What do you mean?”

“I mean that there isn’t anything in the rules, apparently, to prevent a woman or a girl driving an aeroplane if she wants to.”

“Come and let’s see my father,” suggested the girl, presently, “he’ll want to know about this.  It may mean a complete change of our plans.”

“You’ll have to change ’em to beat the Golden Butterfly,” muttered Fanning; “if only those drawings hadn’t been lost we’d have had that balancer, and it looks to me as if we might need it before we get to Cape Charles.”

“Why?”

“The wind’s freshening.  Not more than a half dozen of these aeroplanes will venture up.  Bother the luck, if it wasn’t for the Golden Butterfly, we’d have a clean sweep.”

“This is only the first day,” counseled Regina; “the points scored to-day will not count for so very much.  There’s plenty of time.”

“Humph,” grumbled Fanning, and as this conversation had brought them up to the Silver Cobweb, he broke it off to communicate his intelligence concerning the Prescott aeroplane to Mortlake, who heard it with a lowering brow.