Even while the lads were eating they had to give further details of the disastrous flight.  Doctor Wallington congratulated them on their escape.

“You had better leave flying alone after this,” he remarked.

“I think we shall—­ for a while, at least,” answered Tom, dryly.

As soon as it was possible to do so, the boys sent a message to the girls and to their folks, telling about the accident and of their escape.

“It’s bound to get in the newspapers,” said Dick.  “And if we don’t send word the others will be scared to death.”

The oldest Rover boy was right about the affair getting in the newspapers.  The local sheets gave the accident a column or more and some city sheets took it up and made a “spread” of it, with pictures that were truly thrilling even though they were inaccurate.

“Humph! look at this picture!” cried Sam, showing up the supplement to a New York Sunday newspaper.  “Looks as if we hit the smokestack of the locomotive and sailed along on that for a mile or two!  Phew! what an imagination that artist must have!”

“And here is a picture showing the train climbing over the biplane!” returned Tom.  “Say, it’s a wonder we didn’t wreck the Express instead of the Express wrecking us!”

On the day following the accident the boys were told, after class hours, that some gentlemen wished to see them.  They went to the reception room, to find two men there—­ a lawyer and a doctor.

“You are the—­ er—­ the young gentlemen who were in the—­ er—­ the flying machine smash-up?” queried one of the visitors, sharply.

“Yes,” answered Dick.

“Mr. Rover?”

“Yes, Richard Rover.”

“Just so.  Glad to know you.  My name is Fogg—­ Belright Fogg.  This is Doctor Slamper.  We represent the railroad company, Mr. Rover.  The doctor came along to see if you had been hurt.”

“I got this,” answered Dick, with a quiet smile, and pointed to the lump on his forehead.

“Ah, yes, I see,” put in Doctor Slamper.  “Not very serious, I take it.”

“Oh, it didn’t kill me.”

“Ha! ha!  Good joke, Mr. Rover!  Feel pretty good otherwise, eh?”

“Oh, I’m able to sit up.”

“And these other young gentlemen are all right, of course,” went on the doctor, smoothly.

His manner was such that the boys were disgusted.  Evidently he had come to smooth matters over, so that they would not put in a claim for personal injuries.  And the lawyer had come to ward off a claim for the loss of the Dartaway.

“No, I’m not all right, Doctor—­ far from it,” cried Tom, before the others could say another word.  And then the fun-loving Rover went on:  “My knee is sprained, and my back twisted, and I have a pain in one of my right teeth, and my brothers both got their arms wrenched, and one got his left big toe out of joint, and none of us can see extra good, and I think my big brother’s right ear is out of order, and my digestion is not what it should be, and I fear——­”