If our esteemed sheet, theDaily Independent, feels so cock-sure of its position, why does it not do a little demonstrating? Why does it not organize an expedition, and prove its claim? This is all bunk! We are so sure of it, that we right now challenge our misguided friend to run us a race around the world on a course of his own selection, at any time, by any mode of travel he may choose. There! we have knocked the chip off of theDaily Independent'sshoulder. Now let's see if our friend is really a bluffer or a fighter.
"You know theClarionis a powerful evening newspaper, too," said Bob, when the Ross boys looked up from their reading. "It has always been a hot rival of dad's paper, but it never got quite so sarcastic as this before. Dad was good and mad when he read this last night. 'I'll show both theClarionand the public whether I'm a bluffer or not,' he said to mother. 'If it takes the last cent I've got I'll organize an expedition to meet their challenge and prove my theory to be the correct one.' Then I woke up to our opportunity. I suggested to dad that if the Sky-Bird turned out as we hoped, she would be the very thing to pioneer such a route and give theClarionpeople a race to make their eyes stick out; and I said John Ross was willing to head a crew including Paul and myself."
"What did he say?" asked John and Paul, almost in the same breath.
"Well, he gave a little gasp; his eyes snapped, and he quit walking the floor and sat down on the davenport. 'Robert,' he said, 'I'll think this matter over.' Then he lit a cigar and went to smoking. Dad seldom smokes except when he's got something heavy on his mind."
John and Paul now joined Bob in putting a knee-brace in the new airplane body. Somehow they had a feeling that the parts they were assembling with such care would one of these days go on a very long and arduous journey.
The Air Derby created interest all over the world. People in foreign lands talked about it and read about it in their newspapers, just as they had done in the United States and Canada. With the keenest kind of interest they had followed the reports of its progress and its finish. Several nations had hoped to have their own representatives come in first, only to be disappointed.
All this interested world pricked up its attention anew when the bold editorial of theDaily Independentwas widely copied. As John Ross had predicted, and as probably Mr. Giddings knew before he wrote it, this particular article caused a furore of comment editorially and otherwise. Much of this,—indeed, it seemed the most of it—was favorable to the stand taken by the New York publisher. But when the rival sheet, theClarion, arrayed its strong force in opposition, the conservative element of the public felt vastly encouraged, and many were the heated personal arguments as well as newspaper duels, which ensued. Aviators all over the land were particularly concerned, and it goes without saying that the winners of the late competition were all lined up with theClarioncontingent. This paper's challenge to theDaily Independentfor a two-party race around the world on theIndependent'sown conception of what it considered a fair route awoke great joy in the hearts of the leave-things-as-they-have-been adherents. Few, if any of them, particularly the publishers of theClarion, thought Mr. Giddings would ever take up the challenge.
Therefore, judge of the surprise of everybody, and the dismay of theClarionstaff, when a few days following the flaunting of its challenge, the front page of the Giddings paper contained the following, under a heavy black type heading:
A short time ago theDaily Independentin an editorial strongly criticized the methods or rather routes used in the past in making world tours for a time record, stating that such journeys had all been made unfairly, in that the routes adopted were about a third less than the actual circumference of the globe, and that in our opinion the only legitimate around-the-world record could be made by following approximately the equatorial line.
We expected a good deal of criticism, of course, when we came out thus boldly against a custom which had prevailed since the beginning of so-called "around the world" record trips. But we did not expect to be challenged to prove our sincerity by ourselves making such a journey in competition with our esteemed but rabid contemporary, theClarion.
To show theClarionthat we are not "bluffing," and that we are perfectly willing to demonstrate practically any position we ever take, we herewith accept its challenge. Even now we have in process of construction a new type of airplane, by means of which we are confident we can fly approximately straight around the belly of this old world entirely by air. A little later we shall announce a time, place, and route, in our columns, and sincerely trust theClarionwill be satisfied with them.
It is quite unnecessary to say that Paul and John Ross read the foregoing article with the keenest pleasure the night they reached home from the hangar and found their mother just finishing its perusal. Naturally Mrs. Ross felt all of the average mother's anxiety at the thought that her sons would be exposed to the perils such a long journey would invite, but on the other hand she was very proud to think their talents had placed them in such an honored position. It had only been an evening or two before that Mr. Giddings, in company with his son Robert, had called at the Ross homestead, and after a long conference with the boys as to the suitability of the new Sky-Bird II for making a world cruise, had taken his departure with his mind fully made up as to how he should meet the rival paper's challenge.
A few days subsequently, Bob Giddings found, upon reaching home for lunch, that his motorcycle, which he was in the habit of riding back and forth to work, so that he could rush into town on short notice and get emergency materials for the airplane, had a flat tire. As he could not fix the tire then, he decided to walk back to the fair-grounds.
As he emerged from the big front yard of his home, he chanced to look toward town, and observed an orange-colored taxicab standing near the first crossing. This would not have especially attracted Bob's attention, except for the fact that a man sitting on the front seat was just at that moment pointing his index finger toward the Giddings' place, and a slender-looking man just descending from the cab was looking that way and nodding his head.
It seemed to Bob that he had seen the passenger before, but a second look made him think he must be mistaken; at least he could not place him.
"It's probably somebody to see dad. If so, he'll get disappointed, as dad won't get back from the city before evening."
Dismissing the incident from his mind with this thought. Bob hurried down the road, eager to reach the hangar and get to work again on the new airplane.
A few moments after he had passed the home of a youth he knew, he heard a familiar salutation, and turned around to wave his hand in a greeting to this friend, who had come to the front door. As he turned, his eye fell on a slender figure some distance behind, a figure which stepped behind a tree and stopped.
"Humph! that's funny," mused Bob. "It looks a lot like that fellow who got out of the taxi back there by our house; I wonder what he's up to, anyhow?"
He continued his way, but as he reached the fair-grounds gate and got out his key to unlock it, the whim to look back again seized him. As he turned, his gaze once more rested on the slender form of the wayfarer, who had crossed to the opposite side of the road, and who now, finding himself observed once more, promptly stopped and began to fuss with his shoe-lace.
"Say now, this is funny!" ejaculated Bob under his breath, vainly trying again to recall the identity of the lean figure and dark complexion. "I believe that chap is trying to shadow me. I wonder what in the dickens he really is up to?"
It was the second time Bob had asked that question of himself, but as he was a poor source of information just then, he was forced to pass into the fair-grounds and relock the gate in as mystified a state of mind as before he put the query.
A little later, when he reached the big hangar he whirled about again, as if half expecting to see the stranger still skulking behind him in the grounds. To his relief he did not detect this situation exactly, but he did see a dark face, which had been peering over the top of the highboard fence near the gate, drop down from view on the other side.
Bob gave a grunt as he passed into the hangar and took off his coat. "As I live, I believe he's up to some sort of mischief," growled the boy. And when, shortly afterward, John and Paul Ross appeared he told of his experience and repeated his suspicions.
"That is funny," asserted John; "Paul and I saw nothing of any such man when we came along, and we passed down the same road. Perhaps he mistook you for somebody else."
"I hope so, but I don't like his actions a little bit," declared Bob stoutly.
With that he picked up a try-square and pencil and began laying out some work for Paul to cut on the circular saw, while John busied himself at the boring-machine in putting a hole through the center of the big twelve-foot balsa-wood propeller which a little later would be reinforced with a thin jacket of a new metal called "salinamum," which was made chiefly from salt but whose fused components made it as light as aluminum and stronger than tool steel.
Soon the queer actions of the stranger were quite forgotten in the deep interest of the three young men in their work. With the prospect of a world tour before them if the Sky-Bird turned out well, they now had more incentive than at the beginning to build the machine with the utmost skill and attention to every detail. Some changes, calculated to make the craft better adapted to the peculiar conditions she would be likely to meet in such a varied temperature were put into effect, but on the whole they found their original plans so well laid that no important features seemed to require modification or abandonment.
But if the man who had followed Bob dropped out of their minds the rest of that day, he was soon to occupy a prominent place in their thoughts. For the very next morning, when Paul and John arrived at the hangar, they were met at the door by a very agitated Bob Giddings.
"Fellows, what do you think has happened?" cried Bob, clearly very much excited. Without giving his friends time to answer the question he blurted out: "Somebody got in here last night and stole our plans!"
"Stole our plans!" reiterated Paul and John in the same gasp.
"That's it," said Bob,—"stole the set of blue-prints we have been working from. What's more, they must have seen the airplane before they got out. I went to take the plans out of the bench drawer here where we have kept them locked up, and there was the drawer wide open, the lock picked, and the drawings gone. I'll bet a herring we can thank my dark-skinned shadow of yesterday for this little visit!"
"It does look as if he might have had something to do with this," agreed John soberly. "I wonder how the rascal, whoever he is, could have gotten in the building. There's a heavy Yale lock on the doors."
"The doors were locked all right when I came this morning," vouchedBob. "I don't see myself how—"
"Here you are, gentlemen!" called Paul, who had stepped to a good-sized window near the head of the workbench. "Here's the fellow's private entrance!" And he pointed to where a heavy nail locking the lower sash had been forced aside, also to a series of indentations in the outer sill, where some prying tool had obviously been recently at work.
"It's a clear case of theft, that's sure," observed John; "and since its only our plans that have been taken, it goes to show that this chap is very much concerned about this new airplane."
"Perhaps he wishes to beat us out in getting the patent rights," Bob hinted darkly.
"No, I don't think it's that," differed Paul; "our application was sent in to Washington some weeks ago, and you know the first one to apply for a certain patent gets the attention."
"Well, then, he could use our plans and make and sell airplanes of their pattern, couldn't he?" asked Bob, whose ideas of patent laws were still a little vague.
"Not at all; if he did we could sue him for infringement," was Paul's answer. "The only way he could profit by this theft, so far as I can see, would be to construct a machine for his own private use, or to give to another person. We could not touch him for that."
"And that would be bad enough for us—if such a machine were used against us in this proposed race around the world, wouldn't it?" demanded Bob Giddings.
Paul and John Ross looked at him in dismayed astonishment. They had not thought of this contingency before.
The making of a big airplane is a good-sized job. Especially is this the case with the first airplane made up from new plans. And when the job has to be done by no more than three young men, it becomes an unusually formidable task.
The loss of the blue-prints did not hold up the progress of our friends in the least, as it was only the matter of fifteen or twenty minutes' work for Paul to make a new set from the tracings he had at home; but there were unexpected difficulties met here and there in the constructive work, as is always the case in large mechanical undertakings of an original nature, besides which the young builders ran into the usual delays caused by slow deliveries of parts and materials from distant dealers and manufacturers; and sometimes the railroads were tardy in transporting shipments.
All in all, the summer slipped away only too quickly, and it came time for Paul and Bob to go back to school again with Sky-Bird II not more than half finished. It is true that the long fuselage of the craft was done, with its graceful curves and splendid, roomy, enclosed cabin, accommodating five persons; but all concerned were a little disappointed that more progress had not been made. Mr. Giddings had been quite a frequent visitor at the fair-grounds all through the summer, lending a voice of encouragement throughout the operations. He looked really concerned, however, when Paul and Bob had to return to Clark Polytechnic Institute for the new term of study.
"This is rather hard on us, isn't it, boys?" he observed, with a light laugh in which he unsuccessfully tried to conceal his anxiety. "Here we are with a half-completed airplane, a race staring us in the face for next summer, and two of our workmen snatched away for the whole winter by the inexorable demands of school life, leaving only one lone fellow to finish the job."
"We'll be able to work Saturdays, dad," ventured Bob, trying to wedge a little bit of cheer into the gloomy prospect.
"And evenings. I'd be willing to work after supper every night for a couple of hours," proposed Paul.
"You won't do any such thing," came the firm answer. "While you are at school you two fellows need your evenings for rest and study, and your Saturdays for the school-team sports. Only when there isn't a game on in which you are a contestant will I allow you to help John on the machine—even if it isn't finished for five years. I have been thinking this situation over for some time, for I have seen it coming," went on the great publisher after a moment's pause; "and I have come to the conclusion that the best thing I can do to hustle our ship along is to call in another workman on the job, some chap we can trust and who knows how to handle tools. In fact, if he were a regular airplane mechanic it would be all the better."
John Ross spoke up at once. "Mr. Giddings," he said, "I think you have the right idea. Bob and Paul can't help me much from now on, and if we take that trip around the world next summer this machine must be done some weeks ahead, so that we can have a chance to test her out and tune her up. Now, it happens that Paul and I have a cousin—Tom Meeks—who is about my age and who flew in the same squadron with me over on the French front during the war. I will vouch for Tom's ability as a mechanic and flyer, also as to his trustworthiness. It happens my mother just received a letter from Tom's folks in Illinois the other day in which she said the factory had closed down in which he was working and he was out of a job."
"And you think this Tom Meeks would be willing to come up here, then, and help you this winter for the salary I am paying you?" questioned Mr. Giddings with interest.
"I think he would, sir."
"Then write to him immediately, and tell him to come right on."
In less than a week a strapping big young man, suitcase in hand, got off the train at the Yonkers depot, and was warmly greeted by his cousins, Paul and John Ross, who then introduced him to Bob Giddings. Bob had been so eager to see the new helper on the airplane that he could not wait for a later meeting with him. He took instant liking to the jolly newcomer, who seemed to be ever smiling, and after a short exchange of conversation with him hurried home to tell his father what a splendid fellow Tom Meeks was.
Tom was domiciled in the Ross home, to which he had been a visitor in other years, and of course for the rest of that evening was kept busy visiting with Mrs. Ross and looking at the numerous miniature airplanes of Paul's. His praise of the little Sky-Bird, and particularly of the drawings of Sky-Bird II was very strong, and when he went to the fair-grounds the following morning with John and actually saw what a fine-looking ship the big craft was, he was stumped for words to express his full admiration.
Then while John and Tom went industriously to work, Paul and Bob rode away to Clark Polytechnic in New York with Mr. Giddings. Just before starting into the city that morning, the newspaper man had met Tom, and there was little doubt that he was well pleased with this addition to his force of workers. Of course Paul and Bob were sorry to have to interrupt their labors on Sky-Bird II, but there was no help for it, and there was some consolation in the thought that undoubtedly their instructors would let them work on some of the airplane's smaller parts as a portion of their school mechanical practice. This supposition indeed proved correct, and as the fall days passed they found the two student chums not only partaking with full spirit in the sports of their comrades, but also contributing in no small measure to the progress of the work on the new airplane.
As a rule, Paul and Bob managed to stop in each Saturday for at least an hour or so to lend some assistance to John and Tom, and when there were no school contests on, they spent practically the entire holiday in the hangar.
The cool days of November soon compelled the boys to install a couple of heating stoves in the big building, and after that the place was warm and cheery throughout the working day, no matter how blustery and nippy the weather. At night the coals were carefully banked with ashes, to keep up a fair degree of warmth until the following morning.
Up to this time nothing had been seen of any suspicious person lurking around the premises, but one afternoon late in the month, when Tom Meeks was working alone in the hangar and John had gone to town after some bolts, Tom thought he heard a strange sound at one of the two windows near the workbench.
Turning quickly from the wing-strut which he had been setting in place, Tom faced the window just in time to see a swarthy-looking countenance, adorned with a toothbrush-like mustache, pulled out of range. The mechanic had been informed of Bob's experience with the man who had evidently followed him to the grounds during the summer, also of the blue-prints which had been stolen, and now as he observed the similarity in looks between this eavesdropper and the reported shadow of Bob, he became quite excited.
With that lack of coolness and presence of mind characterizing a more reserved temperament, the impulsive Tom rushed straight up to the window, and peered out. Of course he could see nothing, for the peeper had been cute enough upon finding himself observed to keep close to the side of the building as he moved swiftly toward its rear.
Tom now seized the lower sash and tried to throw it up, so as to get a sidewise view. To his disgust he found it double-spiked, and realized that he had put that very second nail in himself upon first learning of the loss of the blue-prints.
"Huckleberry pie!" sputtered Tom, using his favorite expression when excited.
He whirled about and started for the door of the building. On account of the extensive size of the structure it was quite a little way to this. To make matters worse Tom dashed forward in such haste and flurry that he did not watch his step very closely; when he was about half-way to the door, his toe caught the protruding leg of an innocent sawhorse, and the next moment Tom Meeks and the sawhorse were both overturned.
"Huckleberry pie!" gasped the big fellow. His right shin hurt like fury, but he would not stop to examine it, and covered the remaining distance to the door in very ludicrous limping jumps. Dashing around the front of the building, he reached the corner which gave him a view of the side.
Not a soul was in sight. Not to be outdone completely, Tom hurried along the side of the building. As he came near the rear end he saw a slender figure just clambering over the highboard fence of the field in the rear of the hangar.
Lame as he was, big Tom knew there was no chance of his overtaking the fleet-footed and cunning stranger, so he returned to his work very much crestfallen in spirit.
When John heard what had happened, on his return to work, he was considerably disturbed, and suggested to his comrades the advisability of placing a night-guard on the premises for a while at least, since this unknown enemy might make an effort some night to burn or irreparably damage the Sky-Bird. The others sanctioned this precaution, and thereafter took turns in watching, although this vigilance was apparently all for naught, as no suspicious character appeared.
"Well, Mr. Giddings, what do you think of Sky-Bird II?" asked JohnRoss, one memorable day.
There was a smile of deep satisfaction on John's own bronzed features as he put the question, a smile which was duplicated on the faces of his three co-workers—Paul, Bob, and Tom Meeks. It was the latter part of March, Easter vacation week for Paul and Bob, and the two chums had been working every one of the last three days helping John and Tom put the finishing touches on the big new airplane. And now this Friday morning it rested gracefully upon its own rubber-tired wheels, its great stretch of wings spread out as airily as those of a monster bird, its huge two-bladed propeller glistening like burnished silver, and its body running backward in a splendid symmetrical taper, to end at the well-proportioned tail. Sky-Bird II was done at last.
Mr. Giddings was so lost in admiration at the beautiful lines of the craft that he did not reply immediately to John's question. He had not seen it for almost two weeks, and in that time, under the onslaughts of the four boys, it had changed appearance in a striking way, numerous finished parts having been connected and paint and varnish having been applied.
"All I have to say, young men, is that if she performs anywhere near as well as she looks, I shall be thoroughly satisfied with the money I have invested thus far," declared the great newspaper man with an enthusiasm which he did not try to conceal. His eyes were shining, as he walked around the craft looking at it from all sides. He rubbed his fingers lingeringly over the smooth fuselage, and smiled quietly as he regarded the name "Sky-Bird II" lettered in large blue characters on her sides and underneath each long bird-like wing. Then he mounted a folding step and went through a neat door into the glass-surrounded cabin. This was deep enough to stand up in, and provided comfortable upholstered cane seats for the pilot and four passengers or assistants. All of these seats except the pilot's and observer's were convertible, forming supports for the swinging of as many hammocks, and in a small space at the rear was a neat little gasoline-burner, and over it a built-in cupboard containing some simple aluminum cooking ware.
"Well, I declare!" said Mr. Giddings in amazement at the convenience of things, "it looks as if you fellows hadn't left out a single item needed in a long and enjoyable cruise."
"There's nothing like being fixed up for all emergencies, sir," laughed John. "As you notice, we have everything for night-flying as well as day-flying. With such a machine as this there is no reason why a crew of four or five could not run nights as well as days, two operating while the others sleep in the hammocks. Cold foods can be cooked or warmed up on the gas-stove when needed, and the enclosed cabin protects all hands from the worst effects of bad storms."
"Wouldn't this glass break in a hailstorm?" asked Mr. Giddings. "It seems to be pretty thin."
"It is thin," said Paul; "that is to give it lightness. It might check some in a hailstorm, but it could not break out, as it is made of two layers of glass between which is cemented a thin sheet of celluloid."
"I think you had two Liberty motors here in the hangar when I was here last. I neglected to ask you the power of these, and what you need two for," observed Mr. Giddings. "I thought you said in the beginning that you considered one 400 horse-power engine of sufficient strength to carry this plane at a fast clip."
"It is this way, sir," responded John. "The regular big biplane of the bomber type carries two propellers with an engine for each propeller. If one motor fails them when flying, about all the other is good for is to make a landing with. By reason of the great lightness of our airplane one good 400 horse-power motor is all we need for pulling purposes. But suppose this should fail, as any motor might do? We could not continue, any more than the other fellow, and would have to volplane to the ground. Again, suppose we wished to fly continuously more than twelve hours? We could not do so, as such a steady run would heat the best motor and ruin it. These two Liberty motors, which we have, overcome all these troubles. Both are so arranged that a simple switch connects and disconnects either one with the propeller, and both can be put at work at the one time if needed in a bad storm. If one stalls, the other can immediately be thrown in and a forced landing obviated. Moreover, if we could get fuel when needed, with this arrangement I am safe in saying we could fly steadily day and night, resting one motor and working its mate, for a week or more."
"What is this?" As he spoke the publisher touched a peculiar-looking helmet hanging from a hook near the pilot's seat.
Bob laughed. "Why, don't you recognize the products of your talented son, dad?" he cried, as he took the object down and clapped it over his father's iron-gray head. "That's my new wireless telephone headpiece, and right underneath it here is the mahogany cabinet containing the sending and receiving instruments. You see, these two wires run from the plug up to the receivers, there being one receiver in each side of the helmet, right over your ear, pressing against the ear tightly by means of a sponge-rubber gasket."
"A man looks like a padded football player with this thing on," saidMr. Giddings with a smile. "Why is a helmet required at all?"
"We wouldn't require it so much with these motors, as they are equipped with a new kind of muffler which shuts out about four-fifths of the noise other airplanes get," explained Bob. "But for all that there are always noises in airplanes; for instance, they say the whirr of the propeller when it is revolving about 1450 revolutions per minute, or at the full speed of this one, makes quite a roar; so you see the need of the helmet to shut out all undesirable sounds possible. In ordinary planes the crew cannot talk to each other except by using phones or putting their lips to each other's ears and yelling at the top of their voices, according to what John and Tom tell me. But we don't expect to have that trouble in this enclosed cabin and with this new muffler working, do we, fellows?"
"I'm sure we won't," said John.
"Not if I'm any judge," grinned Tom.
"Can you talk with a ground station when you're flying, say a couple of miles high?" asked Mr. Giddings, examining a transmitter attached to a yoked wire support which his son slipped over his shoulders.
"Farther than that. With this particular vacuum tube, which will amplify sounds three or four times over any other I have tried, we expect to talk with ground stations or other aircraft at a distance of three thousand miles. Notice what a simple thing it is, dad," and Bob indicated a little glass bulb which looked a lot like an ordinary incandescent light, but which had a peculiar arrangement of wires and substances inside.
"Is the transmitter or receiver made just like the ordinary kind?" asked Mr. Giddings.
"Practically the same, dad. The wireless transmitter, like that of the wire telephone, contains a sensitive diaphragm which your voice strikes and sets to vibrating. These vibrations compress and release a capsule of carbon granules which agitate and set in motion an electrical current in two magnets connecting with them. The magnets convey the sound-waves in the form of electrical waves, along wires out to the tip of each wing, where the wires hang down a little way. When a message comes in it is caught by a webbing of antennae wires in our wings."
"Then I suppose these sound-waves, in other words the words one speaks, run out of the end of these wires into the atmosphere?"
"Exactly, sir," agreed Bob. "That is, the electrical waves are projected into the air and disturb this air in a way to make it pulsate in the same manner as your voice makes the diaphragm pulsate. These waves are then carried through the atmosphere in every direction, and sooner or later reach the antennae wires of some station equipped to receive them. Down these wires they dash, are registered and magnified in the wonderfully delicate vacuum tube, and from it are carried up into the receivers at your ears."
"I should think they would be electrical impulses when they reach the receivers," argued Mr. Giddings. "How can a person hearwordsfrom electrical discharges?"
Bob smiled. "Easy enough, dad," he went on. "You see, this vacuum tube does the business. The electrical current agitates this in unison, and the impulses are immediately converted into words again,—and there you are!"
"I acknowledge my understanding now," admitted Mr. Giddings, with a hearty laugh; "but there's just one thing yet I want light on: Where do you get your electrical current? It takes a dynamo to make electricity, else storage batteries. I don't see either."
"Come outside here a moment, dad."
Bob smiled as he led the little party out of the Sky-Bird's cabin.When they once more stood on the hangar floor, he pointed to a peculiarT-shaped object just beneath the nose of the airplane. This hadescaped the gentleman's observation until now.
"It looks like a small propeller with a torpedo sticking out from the middle of it," laughed Mr. Giddings.
"So it does, dad," agreed Bob. "Well, that's our wireless dynamo. You will notice that the propeller faces ahead, like the big fellow here. When the airplane is flying, the rush of wind spins the fan at a terrific rate, its axle operates a little dynamo in this torpedo-like case and manufactures electric current. The current then passes into this small apparatus here with a bulb attached, which regulates the voltage and sends it up to the instruments in a uniform flow, no matter at what speed the airplane may be going."
"That's a cheap way of getting current," declared the newspaper man, "and a mighty good one, too." He now changed the subject by asking: "How much do you suppose this machine weighs?"
"I have been in smaller ones which weighed, unloaded, as much as three thousand pounds," admitted John Ross, with a peculiar smile. "Put your hands under the Sky-Bird's nose here and see if you can lift her, Mr. Giddings."
"Don't joke that way, John," expostulated Mr. Giddings. "Why, her engines are right above this portion of her, and I couldn't lift one of them alone."
"Just try it anyhow, dad," persisted Bob, who also wore that queer smile.
More to accommodate them than because he expected to accomplish anything, the publisher half-heartedly braced himself in a crouching position and pushed upward on the airplane's front. To his amazement the whole forward part of the machine rose upward a foot in the air, as if it were made of paper.
"My word!" exclaimed Mr. Giddings, letting the craft back upon its wheels. "Who would have thought such a thing? I had faith in this principle of the hollow wings and helium-gas, boys, but I never thought it could reduce the normal weight of the plane to such a vast extent, It is truly a wonderful idea."
"You might not believe it, but the Sky-Bird weighs less than two hundred pounds as she stands," said Paul. "Just before you came today, Mr. Giddings, Bob and I, one at each end, easily lifted her clear off the floor."
"It's what we aimed for, and we've got it," added John with satisfaction, while Tom Meeks nodded his head and ejaculated, "I'd say so! I'd say so!" his whole broad face abeam. "This feather lightness means great lift, great speed, and great cruising range."
"I should think so surely," was the decided response of the newspaper man. "I notice you have installed that 'automatic pilot' too. And what's that up here in front on top of the cabin? A searchlight, as I live!"
"Yes, dad," said Bob; "we thought that would be a good thing in case we do any night traveling on this tour of the world. It ought to have good power, being operated with current from the storage batteries of the wireless wind-dynamo."
After a little more inspection and further questions, Mr. Giddings took his departure, promising to be on hand at the hangar the following morning for the test flight.
John, Paul, and Tom reached the fairgrounds a good full hour ahead of the scheduled start that Saturday morning. In fact, Mrs. Ross had given them an earlier breakfast than usual, so that they could give the Sky-Bird II a general going over before it came time for her to make her initial flight.
Of course all three young men were a good deal excited, although they were careful not to let each other know it, for fear of being the target for a little fun from the others. In this effort at reserve, the irrepressible Tom was the least successful of the trio, as might be expected, and when he caught John and Paul slyly winking at each other and glancing in his direction as he nervously tried the same control for the third time, he blurted out: "Oh, you fellows needn't laugh at me! You're just as much on edge as I am, now that we're really going to fly this old bird!"
"Come, Tom, don't try to cover up your nervousness by accusing us of the same thing," protested Paul.
"You're as agitated as a young kid with his first electric toy train,Tom," laughed John. "How much gasoline have we got in the tanks now?"
"The gauge shows ten gallons," said Tom, bending down and looking at the instrument-board in front of the pilot's seat.
"That isn't enough for a decent flight," declared John. "We'll probably be out for at least an hour, and we may use as much as fifteen gallons in that time; that's about half the consumption of ordinary airplanes, you know. We'll shove in twenty gallons more so as to be on the safe side."
"We haven't put in any oil yet," reminded Tom. "We'd better put in about two gallons, I should say. Most planes use about a half-gallon to the hour; if we use half as much, that will give us plenty of grease."
The tanks were in the lower part of the forward fuselage. With the caps removed, a hose was inserted by Paul, and then John forced the gasoline up by a small but powerful handpump until the gauge told that the required additional twenty gallons were in. The same pump would work with the oil also, and soon the viscid fluid had been transferred from the storage can on the hangar floor to its proper tank in the airplane. Thence it would feed itself up into the carbureter of the working engine by a force-pump attached to the engine, as with the gasoline.
The boys had just finished putting in the fuel when Mr. Giddings andBob drove up in the former's automobile.
"I expect this is a great day for you young men?" said the publisher, with a smile of greeting to all. "I know it is a time I have looked forward to myself for a good many months,—ever since I accepted the challenge of theClarion, in fact. Is the Sky-Bird supplied with gasoline?"
"Yes, sir," said John; "we just got through with that job. We have easily enough fuel aboard now for a couple of hours' flight, and that will be long enough for a first one. New engines are always 'stiff' and should not be run too long at a stretch."
"Have you run this pair yet?"
"Oh, yes," said Bob. "We have tried them out several times, dad, and in connection with the propeller, too. They work tip-top, either connected or disconnected. I tell you, when they're in connection they certainly do make this big propeller hum!"
"I can't understand how you can operate the propeller in here," said Mr. Giddings, much puzzled. "All the airplanes I have seen have always dashed forward as soon as their propellers began to revolve under impulse of the motor or motors; there was no restraining them. I should think this machine would run through the front end of the hangar here as soon as you—"
"Pardon me, sir," interrupted John, "but we have gone those fellows one better. You forget that in the drawings we showed you there was a set of brakes designed to be worked by a control within reach of the pilot, brakes which will engage these ground wheels a good deal the same as brakes work on automobiles—by a flexible band of steel and grit-filled cotton which is made to compress over a large sort of hub on the inner side of each wheel."
"Very good," said Mr. Giddings; "but I understand that has been tried before, with the result that the airplane at once tipped forward and stuck its nose into the ground, or rather tried to, smashing its propeller to smithereens."
"They will do that every time unless something has been devised to counteract this tendency to pitch over," explained John. "We have devised the thing to prevent it, Mr. Giddings."
"See here, dad," put in Bob at this point. "Stoop down a bit and look under the forward end of the body here."
His father did as requested, and Bob pointed out a circular opening about the size of a saucer, from which protruded the end of an aluminum-encased shaft bearing a small rubber-tired wheel of very sturdy proportions.
"That is our preventer, dad," smiled his son.
"In a few minutes we'll show you how it works," added John Ross. "I see you are wearing a cap, sir, as I suggested. That is all the special dress you will need, as our enclosed cabin makes helmets and close bundling unnecessary. We fellows will wear our regular working togs."
Everything being in readiness, the four young men easily pushed the big airplane out of the building and to a place where it would have a smooth runway for a hundred yards ahead. The weather was ideal for the trip. There was little wind, and the few strato-cumulus clouds which were visible showed great stretches of azure-blue sky between them.
"Everybody climb in," ordered Tom, with a wave of his hand. "I'll crank her up. You take the joy-stick, John."
All hands complied. Then Tom began to turn the big burnished propeller, just as John threw a lever from the inside which caused the auxiliary ground wheel to shoot down and engage the sod. At the same time the movement of another lever by Paul set the airplane's brakes.
Several times Tom turned the propeller around. Then, with a pop, the engine cylinders began to fire, Tom jumped swiftly back, and the propeller whirred like a mad thing. At the same time the Sky-Bird gave a start, as though to dash forward; but beyond a steady, slight vibration of her whole body, as Tom slowed down the motor to four hundred revolutions per minute, there was no indication to her inmates that she was straining to get away. Tom now quietly mounted the step, and came into the cabin, pulling the step up after him and closing the self-locking door.
"That shows you how this third ground wheel acts, dad!" cried Bob triumphantly to his father, who sat in a chair adjoining. "Now watch the old girl jump ahead when Paul throws back the brake lever and his brother lifts the third wheel and gives her more gas!"
The changes were made even as he spoke; the propeller's hum grew into a mild roar through the cabin walls, and the Sky-Bird leaped away over the ground, gaining momentum at every yard. To the surprise of even two such veteran flyers as John Ross and Tom Meeks, the airplane had gone less than fifty yards when she began to rise as gracefully as a swallow in response to her up-turned ailerons and elevators. In less than ten seconds she was well up over the fair-grounds, and the roofs of all the buildings in the neighborhood were seen below them.
John kept the machine mounting at a good angle until the altimeter showed them to be up two thousand feet. Then he straightened out the ailerons and elevators, and began to run on a level keel. The other inmates of the cabin noticed, by looking through the observation windows, that he was gradually bearing in a great circle about the town of Yonkers. Off to the northwestward were the rugged blue crags of the Catskills, covered with patches of milk-white snow, and just in front, winding like a huge serpent among the picturesque foothills, was the sparkling Hudson, dwindling away to a mere silver thread in the north, tapering away in the same manner toward the south, where it lapped the piers of the city of New York and immediately afterward lost itself in the waters of the Upper Bay. Although the great skyscrapers of the big city itself could be dimly seen, they looked very small at that distance.
Directly below them our friends could make out the familiar buildings and landmarks of their own town as they swept past one by one, John purposely flying at reduced speed so that a clearer vision could be had. He also shot down to within a thousand feet, presently, as he saw his own home approaching. Someone, whom both John and Paul immediately recognized as their mother, stood in the door waving a handkerchief. In recognition, Paul drew down one of the sliding windows, and put out his head and fluttered his own handkerchief. Shortly afterward—it seemed not more than a minute—the machine was over Shadynook Hill, and Bob and his father were waving a similar salute to Mrs. Giddings.
As they swept on, men and women and children could be seen looking up from the streets beneath. Most of these people were used to seeing airplanes, but obviously the bright finish of the Sky-Bird II, and its striking eagle-like appearance created more than passing notice.
Those in the cabin were amazed to note how effectually the new muffler and the walls of the cabin shut out the sounds of operation. It was very easy for them to talk back and forth with each other by using a fairly strong pitch of voice, even when the machine was running at a good rate, as it now began to do, for John once more gave the engine more gas, and turned the airplane skyward. Up, up they shot like a rocket. The hand on the dial of the altimeter moved along steadily—it reached 2 again, passed to 3, 4, 5, 6; the earth seemed literally to be falling away from them. All at once, when they were between six and seven thousand feet high, and watching the minute patches of color far below, which represented buildings, houses, hills, and the like, these objects were swept away, and through the glass plates of the cabin floor they could see nothing but a gray vapor below them. It was also around them.
"We're passing up through a cloud," said Bob to his father, who had never been in an airplane before. A moment or two later, the boy added, as the blue sky could once more be seen below, "Now we're above it, dad."
"It seems to be getting colder," remarked Mr. Giddings.
"It always gets colder the higher one goes," informed Paul.
"I hope you're not getting cold feet, dad?" grinned Bob.
"Oh, I'm comfortable, thank you," laughed his father. "Say, son, isn't this as good a time as any to try out the merits of that wireless 'phone of yours? Can you work it from this height?"
"I don't know why I can't—and three times higher," Bob said; "we'll try it right now. When I left home I told Sis to mind the set there in my room, and watch for my signal. We'll see now if I can get in touch with her."
So saying, Bob put on the wireless helmet, threw the switch, and kept repeating, "Hello, Sis! hello, Sis! hello, Sis!" for a few moments in the transmitter. Then he said, after a brief silence: "I get you, Betty. Won't answer you now, as I want dad to talk to you."
With that Bob smiled, removed the headpiece, and slipped it over his father's head, exchanging seats with him.
Mr. Giddings now heard a voice—the voice of his own daughter—asking quite distinctly:
"Do you hear me, daddie?"
"I certainly do, Betty," said he; "where are you?"
"Here at home—up in Robert's room. I never thought I'd be sometime talking with you when you were flying through the air. Mother just called upstairs and says she can't see the Sky-Bird any longer. Where are you now?"
"Up above the clouds somewhere just north of Yonkers," replied Mr.Giddings laconically.
"Oh, goodness! I must run right down and tell mother. Please don't go too high or too far, daddie, will you?" came the clearly agitated tones of the daughter. "Is Robert all right?"
"Indeed he is. We'll soon be back with you and tell you all about it.Everything is working perfectly. Good-bye, Betty!"
And Mr. Giddings arose with a pleased laugh, and hung up the helmet. "I'll take off my hat to you, Robert," he said. "I never thought your fussing at home all these years with electric batteries, buzzers, and what not, would amount to anything like this."
The Sky-Bird II was now running straight ahead with the speed of the wind, John giving the craft more and more gas, and crowding her pretty close to the limit. The wind swept by both sides of the streamlike cabin with a rushing sound like the distant roar of a huge cataract; the flexible window glass gave slightly to its pressure, but there was no sign of it breaking. One minute they were in the midst of a cumulus cloud; the next, through it. Now they saw the faint outline of the earth, now sky; now the earth was screened by cloud, but above were the blue heavens.
"Guess how fast we're making it now?" cried John, one eye on the dial which connected with the propeller-shaft.
"A hundred miles," ventured Mr. Giddings.
"Hundred and thirty," guessed Paul and Bob.
"Hundred and eighty," stated the more experienced Tom.
"All too low," said John. "We're going just exactly two hundred and fifty, if this speedometer doesn't lie!"
He now announced that he was going to throw in the idle engine. This was done successfully, and under the extra power they were soon making the remarkable speed of three hundred miles an hour! John then slowed up and disconnected first one motor and then the other, the airplane continuing to fly with unimpaired smoothness.
As a last test, he dropped to a level of three thousand feet, at which time they were considerably north of Albany, and throwing the automatic-pilot into operation calmly removed his hands and feet from every control except the rudder. In this fashion they ran for fifteen or twenty miles on a perfectly even keel, the apparatus automatically working the elevators and ailerons of the craft as various wind currents tended to disturb its equilibrium. At length, John gave a little twist to the rudder, and the way the Sky-Bird began to circle, and to bank of her own accord, was a splendid sight to behold. No hawk, sailing over a barnyard in quest of an unwary fowl, could have performed the trick more beautifully.
As the flyers now headed for home they were all much elated at the success of the first flight of the new airplane. And as it gracefully swooped down into the fair-grounds a little later, coming to a stop in a surprisingly short run over the ground owing to her braking feature, this elation was increased.
After getting out of the airplane, Mr. Giddings was thoughtful for some minutes. Nor did he speak until the boys had pushed the machine into the hangar. Then he said, with deep earnestness:
"Young men, a great load has been removed from my mind by this recent performance of the Sky-Bird II. I have now not the slightest doubts of her adaptability to make a round-the-world trip, and if she performs then as she did this morning, we are not only going to defeat theClarion's crew, but we are going to smash all existing records for a journey of the kind. I wish to know if you really think you could operate this machine steadily night and day, say for a couple of weeks, stopping only for fuel and food?"
"By alternating the engines—yes, sir; no doubt of it," declared John Ross without a moment's hesitation, while Tom Meeks nodded his frowsy head energetically.
"Then," said Mr. Giddings, "you may consider that's what the entire four of you will have to do in a few months, as soon as we can pick out a route and get fuel supplies at the different airports or stops for you. John, you and Tom may consider yourselves under salary right on until after this race; there will be enough for you to do, helping me with arrangements and taking care of the airplane."
"Well, but how about Paul and me, dad?" broke in Bob anxiously; "aren't we going to have anything to do?"
"Oh, you two will have enough to do going to school, I think," laughed Mr. Giddings; "but, to satisfy you, I will let you both help John and Tom select a route and make out a schedule. Do this just as soon as you can, so that I may be able to give Mr. Wrenn, the publisher of theClarion, a copy. He can then make intelligent preparations for his own crew. I am going to give my rival every consideration in this matter, so that he cannot do any howling if we beat him. It must be an out-and-out fair race, do you understand?"
All nodded.
"Have you heard anything about the other crew yet, Mr. Giddings?" inquired Paul. "I mean, do you know what sort of a craft they are going to use, or who is going to fly against us?"
"I am as much in the dark about those points as you young men," was the reply. "I judge that Mr. Wrenn, who is an astute business man, will keep us in ignorance of his personnel until the last minute. The fact is, I am going to treat him to a dose of his own medicine in this respect. So be careful not to let the public get close to this machine, and talk with no one about it."
With that the publisher and Bob drove home, but the latter came back in the afternoon, and all four young men immediately repaired to the Yonkers Public Library with a blank tablet, there to work out the route and schedule.
It was no easy task. In the first place, they wished the route to be as close to the equator at all times as possible, so that their line of travel would approximate in distance the world's estimated circumference of 24,899 miles. In the second place, for stops they must choose cities or towns with either established landing-fields, or with grounds level enough for this purpose. In the third place, these airports must be so divided that they would not have to be visited during the hours of darkness, for few if any of them would be likely to have efficient enough lighting systems to make night landings safe.
Within fifteen minutes the boys had the long table in front of them literally covered with geographies, atlases, loose maps, and encyclopaedias. Paul even brought up a globe as large as a pumpkin, while Bob was not content until he had secured a score of back numbers of travel magazines. Into this divers collection of diagrams and reading matter they dove with an avidity which would have surprised the teachers they had when they were in grammar school, if they could have seen them. It soon became evident that they would not only need a route and schedule to make their journey successful, but also an enormous amount of general information about the countries they would pass over.
"We'll have to study trade winds, oceanic storm conditions, temperatures, inhabitants, topography, and so forth, and so forth," drawled Tom Meeks. "Say, fellows, I feel like kicking myself to think I didn't study my geography more and shoot paper-wads less, when I was a kid at school."
"We'll have to do a lot of cramming, that's sure," averred John; "but we have several months for that. Just now we want to jump into this route and schedule."
They made up several tentative routes, only to discard them. Finally, after several hours' work, they had one which everybody seemed to agree was the best that could be picked out. With the schedule, which was figured on the basis of 120 miles an hour airplane speed, the draft looked like this:
Miles Airport Arrive Leave—— PANAMA —————— 1:00p 20th1672 Georgetown 5:30a 21st 7:30a 21st1154 Para 6:00p 21st 9:00p 21st2402 Freetown 6:15p 22d 9:15p 22d1980 Kuka 1:00p 23d 8:00p 23d2015 Aden 6:00a 24th 9:00a 24th2116 Colombo 5:30a 25th 8:30a 25th1612 Singapore 6:00p 25th 9:00p 25th2218 Port Darwin 5:30p 26th 8:30p 26th3826 Apia 5:45a *27th 8:45a 27th2100 Nukahiva 9:00a 28th 12:00n 28th3154 San Cristobal 6:00p 29th 9:00p 29th650 PANAMA 5:30a 30th ——————-——-24899
* Gain of 1 day by reason of crossing 180th Meridian, or InternationalDate Line, between Port Darwin and Apia.
Bob Giddings carried home a copy of this schedule, and the following Monday morning all four young men met by appointment in the private office of the publisher of theDaily Independent. After they were seated, Mr. Giddings brought forth the tentative draft, studied it a few moments, and then asked:
"What is your fuel capacity, boys?"
"Our tanks will hold enough gasoline and oil to carry us a little better than five thousand miles, throttled down to an average of one hundred and twenty miles an hour, the basis on which we figured out this schedule, sir," answered John.
"Would it make a difference if you flew faster than that?"
"Oh, yes," said John; "the faster a pilot flies the more fuel he uses per mile. Full out—that is, going at the limit of her speed—the Sky-Bird probably would not cover more than three-thousand miles."
"I am glad to know this," said Mr. Giddings. "I see that your cruising radius is sufficient to cover your longest jumps at any reasonable speed. Let me see; you allow yourselves three hours' stop at each airport; will that be long enough?"
"Plenty, sir," said Tom; "we figure that we can easily refuel in that time, and attend to any local affairs we may have."
"I notice your total mileage is exactly equal to the estimated circumference of the world," remarked the publisher. "That shows great care in the selection of this route to meet my viewpoint; but may I ask how you know your distances between airports, as here recorded, are correct? From whence did you get these mileages?"
"Bob and I figured them out, sir," spoke up Paul.
"How?"
"Why, like this, dad," explained Bob. "We knew there were 360 degrees to the world; we divided the circumference of 24,899 miles by 360, and obtained approximately 69.5 miles to a degree. By taking a map of the world and finding the number of degrees between any two airports it was not difficult to come pretty close to the actual distance in miles between them."
"Very good; very good, indeed," approved his father. "I think I have the right sort of men on this job. But here is another thing which occurs to me: Have you based your time of arrival and leaving at each port upon local time or New York time?"
"Local time," stated Paul. "If we had not done so we could not have arranged the schedule with any accuracy at all, as regards daylight and darkness and the lapping of time. With our watches set to New York time, we might expect to land at a station in broad daylight, only to find that we were really coming in after dark. Another thing: Our figuring showed us that the lappages of time, all added together, exactly totaled one day of twenty-four hours, which we gain by traveling eastward. So, while the schedule on a calendar at home would only show ten days which we would be gone, we would in reality be away one day longer, or eleven."
"Your local times may be wrong," hinted Mr. Giddings.
"I don't think so, sir; we proved them correct," stated Paul, with conviction.
"How?"
"After the same method we used in getting the mileage, sir. You see, we knew that time eastward keeps getting later, and that this rate is four minutes to every degree. We just counted the degrees between places and figured it out on that basis."
"Splendid!" exclaimed Mr. Giddings, who was far from as ignorant of these processes as he led his visitors to suppose. "Boys, I wish to compliment you very highly upon this piece of work. When I first looked at the schedule and saw that an airplane meeting its requirements would make this trip squarely around the world in seven and a half hours less than ten days I could scarcely credit my senses, and I figured it all over to make sure you had made no mistake. I found out you had not. If you can maintain an average speed of one hundred and twenty miles, and can make up any unforeseen delays by greater speed, I must admit it really looks possible for you to be back inside of ten days. That is better than I actually hoped for, young men,—far better! In fact the situation, as I view it, contains wonderful opportunities for both newspapers in the way of sales and advertising. I do not doubt but that I can handle this affair in such a manner that I can afford to give each of you five thousand dollars if you make the journey within these ten days."
"Five thousand dollars!" cried our friends in unison, while Bob exploded: "But, dad, just how do you figure this out?"
"Mr. Wrenn and I will exploit this contest in our newspapers—let the whole universe know that it is coming off; advise the people that the aviators are to be provided with the most modern airplanes, and equipped with wireless by means of which they will keep us informed frequently of their whereabouts; that they will have cameras and send us pictures; that these bulletins shall be issued in extra editions of our newspapers at least three or four times a day; and to cap the climax, we will put up large bulletin boards in front of our buildings, on which there will be painted a chart of the trip, showing every scheduled stop, country, and ocean crossed. This will be electrically lighted at night, and as you boys fly in your machine away off in some distant part of the world, our bulletin board operators will follow your course on their huge charts, and represent you with a miniature airplane. In fact, I plan to get theClarionto 'phone over reports of their crew as fast as received, I doing likewise with them, and then we can have two dummy airplanes on each of our boards, showing the race in earnest at all stages of the journey. This would cause great excitement to the street onlookers. All in all, it would make our newspapers the most talked about in the whole country, we would gain thousands of new subscribers, millions of extras would be sold, thousands of dollars' worth of new advertising contracts could be made, and our present rates increased on account of our new prestige. Now, you see, it will be up to you young men to keep our office supplied with your whereabouts as often as you can. Do that, and beat our rival crew, and I shall be pretty well satisfied if you don't quite make the trip in ten days."
"We will do our part, sir," responded John, speaking for all.
There was a little further talk; and then they took their leave, well satisfied with the turn of events, and each determined to win his five thousand dollar trophy if it were at all possible.