Reaching the limit of the parallel glide the monoplane once more shot down on an incline toward the earth with terrible speed.  The ground seemed to rush up to meet Mr. Damon.

“Look out!” he cried to Tom.  “We’re going to hit something!”

“Not yet,” was the calm answer “I’m going to try a new stunt.  Hold fast!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Some spirals.  I think that will let us down easier, but the craft is likely to tilt a bit, so hold on.”

The young inventor shifted the movable planes and rudder, and, a moment later, the butterfly swung violently around, like a polo pony taking a sudden turn after the ball.  Mr. Damon slid to one side of his seat, and made a frantic grab for one of the upright supports.

“I made too short a turn!” cried Tom, easing off the craft, which righted itself in an instant.  “The air currents fooled me.”

Under his skillful guidance, the monoplane was soon slowly approaching the earth in a series of graceful curves.  It was under perfect control, and a smile of relief came on the face of the young inventor.  Seeing it Mr. Damon took courage, and his hands, which had grasped the uprights with such firmness that his knuckles showed white with the strain, were now removed.  He sat easily in his seat.

“We’re all right now,” declared Tom.  “I’ll take a couple of forward glides now, and we’ll land.”

He sent the machine straight ahead.  It gathered speed in an instant.  Then, with an upward tilt it was slackened, almost as if brakes had been applied.  Once more it shot toward the earth, and once more it was checked by an up-tilted plane.

Then with a thud which shook up the occupants of the two seats, the butterfly came to the ground, and ran along on the three bicycle wheels.  Swiftly it slid over the level ground.  A more ideal landing place would have been hard to find.  Scores of willing hands reached out, and checked the momentum of the little monoplane, and Tom and Mr. Damon climbed from their seats.

The crowd set up a cheer, and hundreds pressed around the aviators.  Several sought to reach, and touch the machine, for they had probably never been so close to one before, though airship flights are getting more and more common.

“Where did you come from?”

“Are you trying for a record?”

“How high did you get?”

“Did you fall, or come down on purpose?”

“Can’t you start your motor in mid-air?”

These, and scores of other questions were fairly volleyed at Tom and Mr. Damon.  The young inventor good-naturedly answered them as best he could.

“We were coming down anyhow,” he explained, “but we did not calculate on vol-planing.  The motor was stalled, and I had to glide.  Please keep away from the machine.  You might damage it.”

The arrival of several policemen, who were attracted by the crowd, served to keep the curious ones back away from the butterfly, or the men, boys and women (for there were a number of the latter in the throng) might have caused serious trouble.