CHAPTER V
A BEWILDERING PROPOSITION
A BEWILDERING PROPOSITION
A BEWILDERING PROPOSITION
There was no marked sign of cordiality in Ned Napier, Alan Hope and Bob Russell as chairs were brought from the anteroom and the Airship Boys were asked to seat themselves. It was three o’clock in the morning (the giant presses below were just starting on the big last edition of the paper) and the visitors were yet to be given an explanation of why they had been asked to get out of bed after but two hours asleep, and hurry by taxicab to the office of theHerald. Even their brief rest had been broken into by reporter Winton’s persistent telephone calls. Not even the just before dawn coolness of the streets had aroused the boys into daytime alertness.
“I am obliged to you, gentlemen,” said the managing editor after the conventional salutations. “I would have come to you myself, but the matter in hand is so new to me and so important that I am just now prepared to talk to you intelligently. What I want to discuss with you I had not heard of at one o’clock. I have been studying it ever since. I hope you will pardon me.”
Napier—just between boyhood and young manhood—spoke for the visitors. The slight frown on his face relaxed.
“We have no idea what this business can be,” he responded with a smile, “but of course it is no foolish errand. If we seem a little stupid please have patience with us. I’m hardly awake now.”
“Thank you,” responded the editor. Then he paused while he carefully scanned each member of the party. As if to gain further time in which to frame his ideas into words, he offered his cigar case. Only Bob Russell and Mr. Latimer accepted a cigar. In the interval of lighting these, Ned and Alan adjusted their disheveled clothing. In age, Alan was slightly older than his chum. Russell had just attained his majority. Each boy was typically Western. All were in comfortable light clothing and soft shirts, the former trim and natty enough originally no doubt but now somewhat sagging in the pockets because of note books, pencils, pens and folded papers.
Ned wore a new straw hat, Alan had thrown off a cap, and Bob’s hat, on the table, was a felt, light and soft after the Western style. A fresh spot of oil on Ned’s light coat seemed to annoy him, probably because of the formal and spotlessattire of their host. The main differences between the boys were in their faces. Russell had the imperturbable, frank—even bold stare of the typical reporter, which was only lost when he smiled. Napier’s, boyish and yet intense, wore at times the soft look of a dreamer or poet. Hope, always alert and quizzical, had not even smiled as yet. Alan’s character was well indicated by Ned’s frequent phrase: “the boy wonder who has to be shown.”
The managing editor’s examination of the three young men did not seem to make his coming explanation any easier. “They were just three boys,” he explained later to a friend, “but I knew in a moment they were not ‘kids’ mentally.” While Ned coolly smoothed his hair the editor finally began.
“I may as well be frank as a preliminary. TheHeraldis in full possession of the facts concerning what has taken place this evening.” Not a boy batted an eye.
“If you don’t mind,” said Ned in the pause that followed, “would you be a little more explicit?”
“I mean that aHeraldreporter watched theOcean Flyerleave the Aeroplane Company’s yards to-night and saw it return twenty-five minutes later. We are advised that it traveled fortymiles seaward and returned safely at a rate of one hundred and eighty miles an hour. We have reasonably full details of the construction of your new airship and, I believe, exact accounts of its unique features—the triple tandem planes, their automatic adjustment, the new ‘moon propellers’ and the enormous turbine sulphuric ether engines.”
There was a silence following this speech that was dramatic. As if schooled for such emergencies not one of the three boys looked at the other. When the silence was broken it was by Ned.
“As you say, your information is reasonably correct.”
Another pause followed.
“I assume,” continued the editor, “that you recognize that these facts make a good newspaper story, particularly when they are known to one paper alone.”
The first response to this came from Bob Russell, the reporter. But it was not spoken. Recrossing his legs, he thrust his hands deep in his coat pockets and gazed determinedly toward the ceiling.
“And I assume,” spoke out Alan Hope at last, “that you did not call us here to tell us that.”
“Incidentally,” said the editor at once. “I may add that, despite the excellence of this story as a piece of news, theHeraldis not going to print it. Here,” he added picking up the bundle of proofs from his desk, “are the proofs of nearly three columns of matter telling this story. It is in type and ready for the press. The last edition of theHeraldis now on the street without a word of it.”
The surprise caused by this statement seemed almost as great as that caused by the editor’s first speech. Still the cautious boys gave no outward signs of deep concern.
“Perhaps I ought to return your frankness,” said Ned at last after it had become doubtful who would speak next. “When we entered your office I suspected just what you have told us. The young man who left it as we came in, I recognized. He is a skillful reporter. We thought we owned our new car and its ideas. At least we paid considerable money to develop them. We also had reasons of our own why the matter was not to be made public. TheHeraldhas been clever enough to get our story. I suppose we are helpless.”
The managing editor waved his hand as if this sort of irony was an old story to him.
“You don’t want the story printed?” he said laconically.
“We do not,” replied Ned in the same tone.
“We arenotprinting it.”
Ned bowed his head as if to say: “Well, why not?”
“Let me be still franker and ask you: ‘Why do you object to the story being printed?’”
“Perhaps,” answered Ned, “if I may be equally candid, that is our business.”
The editor smiled unmoved.
“Are you not curious as to why I suppressed it? Why I did not see fit to print it?”
Not one of the boys, apparently, had taken this view of the situation. All, at once, felt a little abashed.
“I think I’ll have to ask your pardon. Of course you had a reason.”
“Purely selfish,” was the quick response of the manager. “Let me ask you one more question. Your secrecy suggests some particular plan or purpose. Do you care to tell me what that is?”
“It is a long-concealed secret,” explained Ned after a look at Alan and Bob. “I don’t see just why we should talk now!”
The head of theHeraldnodded as if in entire approval, leaned back in his chair for a moment and then, much as if it had been under discussion, remarked:
“At the speed you have secured and with the protected car theOcean Flyercarries, why don’t you cross the Atlantic?”
Ned eyed his questioner a moment and then, with a glance at his two chums, broke out laughing.
“And make good our name?” he asked, apparently glad to get into his usual vein of joviality.
“And make good your name,” repeated the editor.
“Perhaps we may,” went on Ned impulsively. “Now that you’ve betrayed me into that confession, whatever you do with your story of our new machine, I hope you’ll say nothing of this. That is our object.”
“To reassure you,” answered the editor, “I have only to tell you that I hope your secret will be theHerald’s.”
“What do you mean?” broke in Alan.
“Youcancross the Atlantic, yououghtto cross the Atlantic and I hope youwillcross the Atlantic—for the New YorkHerald.”
“For theHerald?” exclaimed Bob. “For a prize?”
The editor nodded his head.
“Not for a prize,” he replied soberly, “but on a news assignment—the biggest news ‘beat’ ever pulled off by a newspaper.”
The Airship Boys forgot the irritation of their abrupt summons, the chagrin over their stolen secret and all the languor the late hour had been working on them. With hurried glances at each other they faced the managing editor wonderingly. In the silence a book dropped from the table with a crash. Night city editor Latimer had fallen against it and stood with bulging eyes and mouth agape. Not until that moment did even he suspect the plans of his chief.
“A news assignment?” mumbled Ned finally.
“I don’t know how much thought you have given the possibilities before you,” answered the editor, “but I have thought very hard on the subject for an hour. As I understand it, your metal airship can maintain a speed of one hundred and eighty miles an hour for a protracted period. It is, in a direct great circle course, a little over three thousand miles from this city to London.”
“Which we could cover in seventeen hours,” boasted Alan.
“Precisely,” went on the editor. “In other words, for our purposes, you can cross over in twenty-two hours and come back in twelve hours or less.”
“Twelve hours or less?” exclaimed Mr. Latimer speaking for the first time.
“Certainly, in a way,” laughed Ned. “There is a difference in time you know of five hours coming west. We gain that. We’d be in the air seventeen hours actual time but by the clock not over twelve hours.”
“For instance,” interpolated the managing editor, “if theOcean Flyerleft London at two o’clock in the afternoon and came to New York at the rate of one hundred and eighty miles an hour it would reach this city in seventeen hours. Allowing five hours for the difference in time, instead of reaching here at seven o’clock the next morning it would arrive when our clock hands were pointing to two o’clock.”
“In the same way,” explained Alan, “we would have to add five hours to our clock time going east. That is,” he added edging forward in his enthusiasm, “if we left New York at two o’clock in the afternoon, instead of reaching London seventeen hours later or at seven in the morning, the clocks would be striking noon when we got there. Oh, we’ve figured all that out many times.”
“That being true,” resumed the managing editor, “and this marvelous annihilation of space and time being at last a possibility, as I conceive it, I have decided that theHeraldought to assist in announcing the fact to the world by giving a practical illustration of what may some day be a commonplace.”
“You mean theHeraldwants to share in the glory of our ocean flight if we make it?” asked Ned, his brows knitted.
“I do,” was the response. “You boys have the airship that can do this and I think you have the daring to try it. If you do it with no other purpose than to show that a flight across the Atlantic is a possibility, you will get for it glory and fame—both empty rewards. Cooperate with theHeraldand I will see that your success brings you not only fame but substantial pecuniary reward. TheHeraldis prepared to pay you, not areasonablesum but anextravagantreward.”
“What if we are satisfied with fame alone?” asked Ned.
“It will not be less because you act for theHerald.”
“What is there in it for your paper?” asked practical Alan.
“Let me finish my proposition,” continued the editor drawing his chair forward into the half-circle of alert boys. “By the way, the OceanFlyeris finished and ready for flight at any time, I take it?”
“Practically so,” answered Alan guardedly.
“This is Thursday, June 17. One week from to-day King George V will be crowned King of England. It will be a ceremony that will attract attention throughout the civilized and savage world. As a news story, it is an event to test the news-gathering ability of the greatest newspaper. The dramatic repetition, on a modern stage, of feudal forms and priestly rites, may never again be repeated. TheHerald’sbest writers are already in London. Our photographers are now there to graphically illustrate the unique picture of royal pomp and power. It is the aim of theHeraldon this occasion, as on all others, to present a better story, a fresher narrative and more perfect pictures of this event than any other newspaper in the world.”
“Not counting the LondonTimes?” suggested Bob as the editor paused.
“Not counting the LondonTimes!” repeated the great journalist slowly and significantly. “And to-night I have decided that we can do this with the assistance of the Airship Boys and theOcean Flyer.” The speaker now showed his first enthusiasm. As he gripped the arms of his chairhe continued with precision. “I want theOcean Flyerto leave London at two o’clock on Coronation Day, June 22, and bring to theHeraldoffice in New York the best writers covering the coronation and the photograph films made of the royal procession and such other pictures of the actual coronation as our photographers may secure. I want these men and pictures delivered at theHeraldoffice or its vicinity by two o’clock the next morning. If you can and will do this you may name your own price.”
It would have been difficult to tell on whom this astounding proposition fell with the greatest surprise: the Airship Boys or Mr. Latimer, the night city editor. The latter’s immediate wonder seemed to turn almost at once into an envious admiration for the man who could conceive such a bewildering idea. In this, he was apparently joined by Bob Russell upon whose face there was a frank look of exhilarating amazement. Alan, elated but puzzled, turned slowly to Ned. The latter gazed at the author of the daring conception as if partly hypnotized.
“That is the reason I killed to-night’s story,” continued the editor in a low voice. “I could not take the chance that another newspaper might attempt to do the same thing. Only those in thisroom know what is possible. We can make this effort in secret. What you planned to do youwilldo. What I propose will only add to the glory of your success.”
“It is not easy to give you an answer,” almost whispered Ned at last as he wetted his lips. “It upsets all our plans and we have had no time to consider it.”
“Do you want time for that?”
“It’s a tremendous thing to decide in a few minutes.”
“Is it the amount of compensation?” asked the elder man.
“I think that will not decide us.”
“What is it that makes you hesitate?”
“I hardly know. Alan,” said Ned turning to his chum, “you haven’t said anything.”
But Alan made no reply. Gazing at the floor, he sat as if lost in thought.
“You could carry these men; two writers and a photographer?” asked the editor.
“Oh, there’d be no trouble about that; that many and enough persons to operate the car. I think we could even give the photographer a dark room,” answered Ned. “What do you say, Bob?”
“I’m on from the start, if you put it up to me,” exclaimed Russell who had now wholly recovered his equanimity. “We could do it without turning a hair.”
Every one smiled, while Ned drew his chair closer to Alan’s.
“Let me add another detail,” resumed the editor. “On the day before the coronation the evening edition of theHeraldwill print a special coronation edition—American tributes to the King and Queen. Two sets of the stereotype matrices of this edition will be made at two o’clock that day. These are paper and light, as you know. On your eastern flight you will carry these to the office of a London paper and deliver them at noon of Coronation Day. With the London evening papers we will issue the complete New YorkTelegramof the day before.”
The listening, newly excited boys all arose and stood together. Mr. Latimer walked to the window and raised the shade. The soft gray light of a June dawn flooded the room and paled the yellow electric lights. It was four o’clock. A sleepless night had left its traces on all. The managing editor was again tearing a paper strip into bits. The night city editor turned out the light bulbs and, biting at his short mustache, walked nervously back and forth. Suddenly theeditor brushed the torn paper from his lap, arose and went to the big wall map. The three boys followed him.
“We had planned to start from St. John’s in Newfoundland,” Ned began in a tired voice. “The distance from that point to Fastnet Light or Cape Clear in Ireland is less than seventeen hundred miles. That was our plan. It seemed to us to be a big thing to undertake.”
The editor did not argue. Turning to the map, his form straightened. A smile of assurance seemed to blot out the traces of night. With a sweep of his arm he described a wide curve from New York to London. His smile deepened. Dropping his other hand on Ned’s shoulder he exclaimed:
“There is your real course. You are next to one of the greatest achievements ever accomplished by man. Do it or attempt it in good faith and theHeraldstands ready to pay you $50,000.”
The figures were staggering but the three boys were now almost beyond fresh sensations. While no one spoke, Mr. Latimer threw up a window. A wave of cool, fresh air that burst into the room seemed to arouse the bewildered boys more than the editor’s last words. It was day and time for clearer thought. As the hesitating boys turnedto drink in the refreshing air, on a sudden all was decided. The telepathy of boy comradeship passed the message without spoken words.
“We don’t want the money unless we do what you ask,” said Ned turning to face the managing editor, “but we’ll try to do it.”
“Thank you, gentlemen,” exclaimed the worn editor. “Say that we meet at the Knickerbocker at one o’clock for luncheon and then to business. Good night.”
As the three boys took their departure the editor seated himself at his desk again and reached for a pad of cable blanks.