"'You'll beat the rest;If you do your best.'"
"'You'll beat the rest;If you do your best.'"
"I never saw that in 'Poor Richard' that I can recollect," said Ned, with a laugh.
Steve Wynn looked pained, as he usually did when any of his quotations was questioned as to its accuracy.
"It's in the book some place," he said confidently.
"Well, maybe it is," agreed Ned. "It's good advice, anyhow."
At last came Herc's turn.
Merritt had now been joined by Chance. With set teeth, they stood watching the agile lad from the farm prepare for his preliminary run.
"You want to watch closely now," said Chance, with an unholy grin, "you're going to see something."
"What? You've——"
But a horrified cry from the spectators interrupted the words. Herc had risen gracefully at the bar, and had seemed about to sail over it. Instantly bedlam had seethed about the field.
"Taylor, of theManhattan, wins!"
"Good boy, red-top!"
"Go to it, freckles!"
But in a flash the cries of enthusiasm had been changed to that peculiar sighing gasp that runs through a crowd at a sudden turn to the tragic in their emotions.
As Herc had lifted his body outward to sail over the bar, the pole had suddenly snapped beneath him.
The horrified spectators saw the lad's body hurtled downward. Herc, as he fell, narrowly missed impalement on the jagged, broken end of the pole. But the lad's muscles were under prime control. Even as he fell, he seemed to make a marvelous twist.
The cheers broke forth anew as Herc, instead of landing in a heap, came to earth gracefully onhis feet. He had not sustained the least injury, a fact which he soon demonstrated to the judges and other officials of the track who crowded about him.
"I tell you, it's that blamed secret of theirs," growled Chance, turning pale.
"We'd better get out of here," warned Merritt hastily. "Look, they are examining the pole. I imagine that they'll find it was cut."
"I imagine so, too," said Chance, in a low, rather frightened tone, as the unworthy two hastened off. "But they can't prove anything on me," he added defiantly.
In the meantime Herc had selected another pole. He examined it carefully and found it perfect. Bracing himself for the effort of his life, he essayed the jump once more.
He sailed over the bar as gracefully as a soaring sea gull.
"Chance is tied! Taylor's tied him!" yelled the crowd.
"Good boy, Herc," whispered Ned, as Hercprepared for a fresh effort. "Now this time beat him, and beat him good."
Herc set his teeth grimly. His usually good-natured face held an expression very foreign to it.
"I'll do it," he said. "And then," he added significantly, "I've got another job to attend to."
Flexing his muscles, Herc crouched for an instant. Then he hurled himself at the bar. He cleared it with almost six inches to spare above Chance's hitherto unapproached record.
If the field had known enthusiasm before, it was pandemonium that broke loose now. Like wild-fire, the word had gone about that Herc's pole had been tampered with. The spirit of the Yankee blue-jacket is keen for fair play. A foul trick stirs his blood as nothing else will. If Ned or Herc had breathed their suspicions at that instant, it is likely that, in spite of discipline, it would have gone hard with Merritt and Chance. But Herc sought another way.
That night word ran through the fleet thatHercules Taylor, of theManhattan, had challenged Chance, of the same ship, to a boxing match, and that Chance had refused. Possibly he anticipated that Herc might lose control of himself and strike out a little harder than is consistent with "sparring." At any rate, from that time on, Chance was rated as "a flunker," which, in the navy, is a very undesirable appellation.
Herc, however, was the idol of theManhattan. His winning of the pole jump had captured the athletic supremacy pennant for theManhattan. It had been the climax of a day of triumphs for the lads of the Dreadnought. From thenceforth the big fighting craft was entitled to float both the athletic pennant and the coveted "Meat Ball," the latter the red flag for the best gunnery. How the meat ball was won at Guantanamo, readers of "The Dreadnought Boys on Battle Practice" are aware.
It was on a Monday, a week after the sports, that a line of trim, athletic looking, young blue-jacketswere lined up in a field, some ten miles out of Hampton, and in the heart of a rural community. Off, at one side of the meadow, was a row of barn-like structures, painted a dull gray color and numbered. There were six of them.
These sheds housed the aeroplanes with which the experiments for the purpose of selecting a naval "aerial-scout class" were to be conducted. The eyes of the row of aspirants, who had been winnowed from a perfect crop of such applicants, were fixed longingly on the gray barns. They housed, not only the aeroplanes, but the ambitions and hopes of that row of young men—the pick of the squadron.
But there were more than twenty candidates for the scout corps lined up, and only nine would be selected. No wonder that there was anxiety reflected in their eyes, as Lieutenant De Frees and his assistants, Ensigns Walters and Jackson, paced down the row of blue-jackets, putting questions here and there, and weeding out those who were either too heavy or cumbersomefor aero work, or else did not give evidence of the keen, hawk-like intellectual faculties that an airman must have. These include the power of instant decision in an emergency, courage of a high order, but not recklessness, and a mind capable of grasping the mechanical qualities of the craft with which they have to deal. As may be imagined, then, the task of the officers was not a simple one.
One by one, the eager applicants were sorted and sifted, till finally, the chosen nine stood shoulder to shoulder. Ned and Herc had both passed, although, for a time, the fate of the latter had hung in the balance. His heavy frame was against him. But the naval officers had decided that the lad's quick intelligence and bulldog tenacity made him desirable in other ways. For the present Herc Taylor would be held in reserve. There was a certain grim suggestiveness in this—a hint of the dangers of aerial navigation which might result in the ranks being thinned before long.
Ned had had no trouble in getting by. Lieutenant De Frees had said with a pleasant nod:
"I've heard of you, Strong. We want you. You are, of course, willing to sign a paper absolving the navy from responsibility in case of your death or serious injury?"
This question had been put to all the applicants in turn. They had all signified their willingness to do this. It was understood, of course, that the contract, or pledge, did not in any way affect their pensions or "disability" money.
When Ned's turn came, he thought a moment. Such was his habit. Then he spoke.
"If I'd thought only of the risks, sir, I wouldn't be here," he said, in a respectful but decisive manner.
Among the others who passed the ordeal were Merritt and Chance; a slender, greyhound-like chap from theKansas, named Terry Mulligan; a bos'un's mate from theLouisiana, called Sim Yeemans, a typical Yankee fromVermont, or "Vairmont," as he called it; a comical German blue-jacket from theIdaho, Hans Dunderblitz, and some others whom we shall probably become acquainted with as our narrative progresses.
The disappointed ones were spun back to the ships in a big auto chartered for the purpose. The successful candidates and the defeated ones parted without animosity.
"Better luck next time," hailed the chosen nine, as their shipmates drove off.
"Oh, your ranks will thin out quick enough," cried one of the departing ones, with sinister humor.
The men selected for the aviation "classes," as they may be called, were, they soon found out, to board at a big stone farmhouse not far from the aviation field. Little more was done that day than to pay a series of visits to the different sheds—or "hangars," in airmen's parlance. In each of these the embryo airmen listened to a short talk on the type of machine they were viewingand heard its qualities discussed. In addition, that night, each of the ambitious ones received a set of books on the science of mastering the air, with instructions to study them carefully. It was implied that those who failed to pass certain examinations at a future date would not be allowed to partake further in the experiments.
"Well, talk about your ease and luxury," said Herc that night when the Dreadnought Boys were in the room assigned to them at the farmhouse, "we're as well off here as middies at Annapolis. What a contrast to the forecastle! I feel like a millionaire already."
"Umph!" grunted Ned, who was already deep in his books. "You'd better get to work and study. We've lots of hard work ahead of us."
"And excitement too, I guess," said Herc, dragging a bulky volume toward him.
Neither of the two lads at the time fully appreciated how much of both was shortly to be crowded into their lives.
UNCLE SAM'S MEN-BIRDS.
"Py golly, dot feller Neddie he fly like vun birdt, alretty, ain'd it?" exclaimed Hans Dunderblitz one day two weeks later.
He was standing by the side of Herc Taylor, watching the evolutions of the bi-plane of Bright-Sturgess model, which Ned Strong was manipulating far above them.
"You're pretty good yourself, Hans," encouraged Herc.
"Ach nein! Efferey time I gedt oop midt der air I schneeze. Undt den—down I go tumble, alretty."
"You'll have to learn to stop sneezing," commented Herc; "maybe the engine doesn't like it—see a doctor."
"Phwat's thot about docthors?" asked Mulligan, coming up. "Shure talkin' uv doctors remindsme uv one we had at home in Galway. He was a successful docthor, understan', but whin he wos a young mon he was not so well-to-do. In fact, the only ornament he had in his parlor was Patience on a Monument, a stathoo, ye understan'. Wun day a frind calls ter see him in the days whin the doc was prosperous.
"'Doc,' says he, 'you ain't got Patience on a Monument any more.'
"'No,' says the docthor, says he, 'shure I've got monumints on all my patients now, begob!'"
"Puts me in mind of what I once read in a paper up in the Catskills," laughed Herc. "The item read: 'Dr. Jones was called, and under his prompt and skilful treatment Hiram Scroggs died Wednesday night.'"
"By Chermany, dere vos a docthor vunce——" began Hans.
But what the doctor "by Chermany" did or said, was destined not to be known, for an order came to the group to resume their practice. Immediatelythey hastened off to get their machines in trim once more.
Lieutenant De Frees' system of instruction had proved effectual. By this time almost all of his squad had learned to fly. Some of them could only take "grasshopper jumps," but others, Ned, Merritt and Chance among them, had proven themselves really capable airmen. They had learned with wonderful aptitude.
Ned would never forget his first day in an aeroplane. The officer had taken up a biplane and given a daring exhibition. Then he descended and announced that instruction would begin. His assistants took up Herc and Merritt, while Ned was ordered to seat himself on the narrow little place beside the officer. The Dreadnought Boy experienced then, not exactly fear, but a curious sort of sinking feeling born of his initiation into a hitherto unknown experience. He braced his feet against the slender struts of the machine, as he was instructed, and held tightly to the handholds provided for the purpose.Then he stole a glance at Lieutenant De Frees. The officer's face was as calm as that of a man who was about to take an afternoon's drive behind a favorite horse.
Suddenly the officer twitched a brass contrivance attached to a quadrant on his steering handle, which was not unlike that of an automobile. He pressed a pedal with his foot and a mighty roar and vibration began at once as the motor opened up.
The acrid reek of castor oil, which is used to lubricate aeroplanes, filled the air. The stuff was expelled from the cylinder vents in blue clouds, shot with lambent smoky flame. The mighty power exerted by the eight cylinders shook the frail fabric of the aeroplane as an earthquake might.
"Hold on tight now!" shouted the officer to the pupils, who were gripping the machine tightly, grasping on to the rear structure. Had they not done so, it would have darted off at once beforethe two propellers gained top speed and driving power.
"Now!" shouted the officer suddenly.
Instantly they let go, as they had been instructed. Ned felt as if he had suddenly been plunged into a runaway express train that was careening over a newly ploughed field. The shocks and vibration of the machine, as it rushed straight forward, like a scared jackrabbit, over the uneven surface of the field, made it hard to hold on.
Just as Ned felt that he must inevitably be hurled from his seat, the motion suddenly changed. The contrast was violent. From the jouncing, rattling, bumping onrush of a second before, the novice seemed to have been suddenly transported to the softest of feather-beds. The aeroplane glided upward without any apparent effort. It appeared to Ned as if the land was dropping from under his feet, rather than that they were rising from the earth.
Higher they soared and higher. Suddenlytheir pleasant drifting, as it seemed, though the aeroplane was making sixty miles an hour, changed to a terrifying drop.
It was like rushing downward in a runaway elevator. Ned choked, caught his breath, and turned faint and dizzy. Without wishing to do so, he found himself compelled to close his eyes. The qualms of incipient nausea began to rack him. His head pained, too.
"Gracious," he thought impatiently, "what's the matter with me, anyway? Am I a baby or a girl? If the lieutenant can stand it, I can."
With a supreme effort of will, the Dreadnought Boy compelled himself to open his eyes. He stole a side glance at his companion. Lieutenant De Frees was as cool as an iceberg.
"I must be, too," thought Ned, steeling himself. As he did so, the alarming downward motion ceased. They began to rise once more, swinging upward and climbing the sky in long, lazy circles.
It was then and there that Ned's attack of airfever left him, never to return. Compared to the experiences of his companions, he learned later he had had a comparatively mild attack.
Ned now began to look about him. The other two aeroplanes were soaring below them, like big birds of the buzzard kind. He felt a wild desire suddenly gripping his heart to go higher—right up among the fleecy clouds that hung above them. Perhaps the officer read his thoughts. At any rate, they continued to climb the aerial staircase. At a height of four thousand feet, they plunged into a fog. The sudden change from the bright sunlight was bewildering.
"We are passing through one of those clouds that you saw from below," volunteered the officer. He glanced at the barograph and read off to Ned the height to which they had arisen.
"Good gracious," thought the lad, "four thousand feet above the earth, and nothing between me and it but the soles of my shoes!"
But Ned's terror had gone. He began to take a real interest in the operation of the aeroplanenow. It was fascinating to a degree. All at once they emerged from the wet fog bank and glided into the sunlight. Condensed moisture covered the planes. Drops of water, turned to miniature rainbows by the sunlight, slid down the wire stays and supports.
"Want to go higher?" asked the officer presently.
"If you want to, sir," said Ned.
"We might as well. You are standing it splendidly, Strong."
Ned felt himself glow with pleasure. Words of praise from an officer are not plentiful in our or any other navy. But, as we have seen, the discipline on the aviation squad was not exactly as rigid as on board a battleship.
But presently Ned's pleasant glow gave way to a shivering sensation. It was growing bitterly cold. His teeth chattered and his hands turned a beautiful plum color. The moisture from the cloud began to freeze on the machine.
"Enough for to-day," decided the officer, and he started to descend.
The drop was rapid, yet now that Ned was more used to it, he felt no particular alarm. In an incredibly short time, so it seemed, the earth rushed up to meet them, and they landed on the aviation field as lightly as a wind-wafted feather.
The next day Ned and the two other most proficient pupils—Merritt and Chance—were given a chance to handle the levers alone. They acquitted themselves well. Their advancement proved rapid, living up to the promise of their first efforts. On the day which we described at the beginning of this chapter, Ned, as we have seen, was capable of handling an aeroplane alone. So were Merritt and Chance. Herc was a fair airman, and the others were progressing favorably.
But the real rivals of the air were, at present, Ned, Merritt and Chance.
NED INVENTS SOMETHING.
"What are you so busy over, my lad?" inquired Lieutenant De Frees one morning, stopping in front of the Dreadnought Boys' hangar.
Ned looked up from the sheet of paper over which he had been poring. It was covered with figures and geometrical scrawlings made by a stumpy lead pencil.
The lad was a bit abashed. Herc was busy tuning up his aeroplane, and Ned, by this time, should have been busy on his machine, for it was a clear, calm day, ideal for a flight. But Ned had not yet even donned his aviation togs. Instead, he had been putting in the best part of an hour on his figuring, bending over it with a puckered brow. A moment before the officer had poked his head in at the door, the boy had started up with a glad cry:
"Herc, I've got it!"
"Catching?" inquired Herc, as he tightened the turnbuckle of a slack stay-wire.
"I hope so," laughed Ned. "I hope it proves catching enough for Uncle Sam to adopt. You see, an aeroplane fitted with pontoons——"
"Oh, choke it off. I've heard it all a hundred times," began Herc, and then, dropping his bantering expression, the freckled lad went on:
"It's a great thing, Ned, not a doubt of it. But are you sure you've got it at last?"
"Certain sure," smiled Ned confidently; "it was to attain cubic capacity, combined with strength and lightness, that bothered me. But I think I've figured it out now so that it will work."
So saying, he had resumed his calculations and had been engaged on them but a few seconds when the interruption occurred.
"Why, it's an idea I've been working out for some time, sir," said Ned modestly, in reply to the officer's question. "I'd rather like to have your opinion on it, sir, if it isn't too much toask. You see, it's a scheme to attach pontoons to an aeroplane, making the machine practicable for both air and water. Inasmuch as our experiments are to select a naval type, it seemed to me that——"
"A machine that could fly and swim, too, if necessary, would be a great thing," broke in the officer enthusiastically. "Well, my boy, if you really have such an idea in practicable shape, I think I can encourage you to hope great things for it. Any one of a hundred manufacturers would be willing to buy your secret and pay you well for it, too."
Ned flushed. A flicker of something akin to indignation crossed his face.
"If it's any good, sir," he said quietly, "I intended that our navy should have it."
The officer brought down his hand with a hearty slap on Ned's broad shoulder.
"Good for you," he said. "I spoke as I did to test your motives in working on this invention, and I am not disappointed in you. If you willvisit me at my quarters to-night, we'll talk more of the matter."
"Thank you, sir," rejoined Ned, flushing gratefully, and his eyes shining, "at what time, sir?"
"About nine o'clock. I've some friends coming over this evening and shall not be at liberty before that time."
Ned saluted, and Herc likewise clicked his heels together and raised his hand, as the officer left the hangar to resume his morning tour of inspection.
The tall form of their superior had hardly vanished from the doorway before Herc, who had turned to search for some tool, gave a sudden sharp outcry.
There was a small window, high up in the rear of the shed, which had been left open for ventilation. As Herc turned, he was as certain as he was that it was daylight, that he had seen a face vanish quickly from the casement. Its owner had evidently dropped from the openingthrough which he had chosen to spy on the Dreadnought Boys.
"What's up, Herc?" asked Ned, as he caught his chum's smothered exclamation.
"Why—why," exclaimed Herc, "I could be almost certain that I saw the face of Chance vanish from that window as I turned round."
"Eavesdropping, eh?"
"Looks like it. I guess he saw Lieutenant De Frees come in here and remain longer than ordinarily. It must have aroused their curiosity."
"What do you mean by 'they'?"
"Merritt and Chance, of course. You know how much love they bear us. I guess they felt afraid we were stealing a march of some kind on them.
"It's a mean trick!" continued Herc. "If I'd only caught him before I'd—I'd have bust his face."
"Let's go round to the back of the shed. We can soon find out if anyone was really there, or if your imagination played you a trick."
Herc readily agreed. He was fairly boiling with anger. But, on investigation, the fresh paint at the rear of the shed proved not to be scratched, as must have been the case had any one clambered up to the window.
"Looks to me as if you're seeing things," teased Ned.
"Does look rather like it," confessed Herc. "It seems as if—hullo, what—what's that? I guess that's how he reached the window without scratching the paint."
He pointed to a short ladder, evidently left behind by the workmen who had fitted up the hangars. It lay in some tall grass, a short distance from where the Dreadnought Boys stood. A hasty attempt seemed to have been made to hide it, but if this had been the case, it was unsuccessful.
"Just as I thought," declared Herc, after a minute. "The grass here is freshly trampled by the chap who threw the ladder back."
Ned was silent a minute. Then he spoke.
"I wonder how much they overheard?" he said slowly.
"All our conversation, I guess, if they arrived in time. Why?"
"Because I wanted to keep my pontoon idea secret till I'd tried it out. It isn't exactly for general publication—yet."
Herc seemed to catch a deeper meaning in the words.
"You're thinking of that chap who's been snooping around here for the last week posing as a newspaper photographer?" he asked quickly.
"Yes. I'm convinced, somehow, that he is nothing of the sort. For one thing, he's far too curious about the mechanical details of the aeroplanes, and the results of the experiments so far as we've conducted them. Another thing is, that he seems unusually well supplied with money, and he also appears to be a man of far greater ability than his supposed job would indicate."
"Gee whillakers!" gasped Herc. "You're not after thinking he's a foreign spy?"
"That's just what I am," rejoined Ned firmly.
"He won't get much information here."
"Not if he depended on most of us for it. But there's Chance and Merritt. It's a mean thing to say, Herc, but I wouldn't trust those fellows any farther than I could see them, and not so far as that."
"We-el!" whistled Herc, with huge assumed surprise, "you don't say so? I was always under the delusion that they were honest, above-board sports, who wouldn't do a mean thing for all the wealth on Wall Street."
But just then the assembly bugle rang out sharply, summoning the aero squad to its labors. The lads hastened to get their machines out on the field. As they trundled them forth, assisted by some of the men employed about the grounds for such jobs, Ned's machine almost collided with a short, rather thick-set man, with a huge pair of moustaches and luxuriant blonde hair. The latter hung in a tangle from under a battered derby hat. The rest of the man's garments were in keeping with his disreputable head-gear. They consisted of a long, and very greasy-looking frock coat, a pair of checked trousers, badly frayed at the bottoms, broken boots and a soiled shirt and collar.
Sigmund Muller, free-lance photographer, bore an indescribable air of being something other than he pretended to be.
Sigmund Muller, free-lance photographer, bore an indescribable air of being something other than he pretended to be.
Sigmund Muller, free-lance photographer, bore an indescribable air of being something other than he pretended to be.
Over his back was strapped a black leather box, which evidently contained a camera, for under his arm he bore a folded tripod. But, despite his disreputable appearance, Sigmund Muller, free-lance photographer, as he termed himself, bore an indescribable air of being something other than he pretended to be. Ned was skilled in reading human faces, and the first time he had set eyes on Herr Muller, he had decided that under the battered exterior and slouching gait lay hidden a keen, lance-like intellect, and an unscrupulous daring. The lad was impressed with the conviction that here was a man to be reckoned with.
As the advancing aeroplane almost knocked him down, Herr Muller jumped nimbly to one side. Then he assumed what was meant to be a free-and-easy sort of manner.
"Chust for dot," he exclaimed, "I dakes me a picdgure of your aeromoplane. Yes—no?"
He began to unsling his camera, but Ned stopped him in a flash.
"Don't bother yourself," he said sharply. "You recollect that I told you the other day that it was against the rules to take pictures of any of the aeroplanes on the grounds."
"Undt I voss ordered off, too," chuckled Herr Muller, without displaying the slightest trace of irritation, "budt, you see, mein young friendt, I coom back—yah."
"Do you mind standing out of the way?" cut in Herc suddenly. "I'd hate to run you down, but if you stand in the road any longer I'll have to."
Once more Herr Muller jumped nimbly aside.
"Dot'll be all righdt," he said amicably, "go on! Go ahead! Some day you break your neck, undt den I take picdgure of you—yes, no?"
He fixed the freckled-faced boy with a glanceas he spoke. Herc, despite his usual equanimity, felt a shudder run through him, as he encountered the look. It seemed to penetrate like the white-hot flame of a blow-pipe.
"Whoof!" he exclaimed, as he hastened along, "that chap's about as pleasant a thing to have around as a rattlesnake. He gives me the shivers."
As the Dreadnought Boys hastened to the assembling place, Merritt and Chance, with their machines, emerged. They passed close to Herr Muller, and as they went by he overheard every word they said.
"So Ned Strong is trying to sneak into favor again, eh?" snarled Merritt, who had just been listening to Chance's account of what he had overheard at the hangar window.
"Yes, confound him. I wish we could find some way to put them both out of business. If it wasn't for them, we'd be——"
A soft touch on Chance's arm interrupted him. He faced round and was rather startled to seethe shambling figure of Sigmund Muller at his elbow. The man's face bore a peculiar, searching look. Chance felt a sort of shiver run through him as he faced him. But he shook it off.
"Well, what is it?" he demanded gruffly.
"You were talking about Ned Strong and Herc Taylor and some plans they had?" said the photographer in quiet tones.
"Why, y-y-y-yes," stammered Chance, rather taken aback. But then, with a return to his former bravado: "What business have you eavesdropping, anyhow? What business is it of yours, eh?"
The other paid no attention to this outburst.
"You don't like Ned Strong or Herc Taylor?" he said in the same even tone.
"Like them," repeated Chance indignantly, "I should say not, I hate—but what do you want to know for?"
"Because I don't like them either," was the reply. "If you'll meet me at eight o'clock to-nightat the old barn, the other side of the stone bridge on the Medford Road, I'll have a proposition of interest to make to you."
"What do you think I am—crazy, as you are?" burst out Chance. "Meet you to talk moonshine? What could you do?"
"Put you in the way of making a lot of money," was the rejoinder.
"Money!" Chance laughed scornfully. "Why, you're nothing but a hobo yourself. If you know where there's so much money, why don't you—— Great Scott!"
Herr Muller had quietly thrust his hand into an inside pocket and withdrawn an immense roll of bills. Chance could see that they were all of big denominations. But he only got a brief look at the roll, for it was almost instantaneously replaced.
"Well," said Herr Muller, with a quiet smile tinged with some contempt, "what do you think of my credentials?"
"They're—they're all right," gasped Chance,still staring as if fascinated at the shabby figure before him.
"You and your friend will agree, then, that I am worth talking business with?"
The other thought a minute.
"My name's Chance, and I'll take one," he said, as he turned and swiftly hastened off. He had lingered a long time and faced a reprimand. But he took it philosophically, for an idea had occurred to him, a plan which might be the means of freeing himself and his chosen companion from what they deemed the drudgery and hardships of the life of a sailor.
A RESCUE BY AEROPLANE.
"Men, I have an announcement to make," said Lieutenant De Frees, when they had all assembled with their various types of machines. Ned noticed that the officer held in his hand a sheet of blue paper of official appearance. It was closely covered with typewritten matter.
"Py golly, vot now comes?" whispered Hans to Mulligan.
"Whist, can't ye, and listen to the officer!" warned Mulligan.
Like the rest, the two whisperers fell into attitudes of deep attention.
"As you all are aware," began the officer, "it is the purpose of the navy to determine the advisability of equipping every vessel in the fleet with an aeroplane suitable for bomb dropping or scout duty. Naturally one of the most essentialfeatures of such a craft would be its ability to fly both to and from the parent ship. In other words, not only must it be able to fly from the ship to the shore, a comparatively simple matter, but it must be able to land back on the deck of the ship from whence it came—a far more hazardous feat."
"Vos is idt, dot 'haz-az-abluss'?" whispered Hans.
"You all follow my meaning?" asked the officer.
A chorus of "Aye, aye, sir," came from the throats of the "Aviation Class."
"Py Chimmy Hill, I follow you all righd, budt I'm a long, long vay behindt, as der terrapin remarked to der rappit," commented Hans in a low undertone which was lost in the hearty roar of the concerted response.
"Very good," resumed the officer. "Now, then, I have here," he referred to the sheet of typewritten paper, "an announcement from the department that one week hence a landing platformwill be erected on the after-deck of theManhattan. She will anchor in the Roads, and those desiring to attempt the feat of landing on her deck may notify me at the earliest opportunity. I may add, that to the successful aviator, will accrue an award of $100, beside certain promotion for efficiency."
"Nodt for vun million billion bundtles of dollars vould I preak my neck," commented Hans to Mulligan.
"By gorry, Dutchy, I don't blame ye. 'Twould be a day's wu-urk fer a burrd to do the thrick," was the response.
"We will now take up morning practice," came the next announcement. "I think that some of you are far enough advanced to try passenger carrying across country. Strong, I assign you to take up Taylor. Merritt, you will carry Chance as your companion."
A sort of buzz of excitement ran through the squad, as the chosen ones hurried off to make ready.
"The remainder of the squad," came the next order, "will resume ordinary practice."
"Dot's all ve do, is resuming," muttered Hans. "I hope I don't resume my sneezing, py crickety."
It did not take Ned and Herc long to get ready. With a buzz and whirr, they were up and into the air before Merritt and Chance got their engines tuned up. No directions as to the course they should take had been given them, so Ned headed the flying machine off inland, where fields and hedges showed in a pretty patchwork beneath them, with a rim of blue mountains in the distance.
"Say, this is great," exclaimed Herc, as they sped on,—
"Take a trip up to the sky;Say, but it's a dream to fly;From the ground we'll take a jump,I hope we don't land with a bump."
"Take a trip up to the sky;Say, but it's a dream to fly;From the ground we'll take a jump,I hope we don't land with a bump."
"You're improving as a poet every minute," laughed Ned, his alert eyes peering straight ahead and his hands firmly grasping the controllingwheel. "Let's hope you're not a prophet as well as a poet. By the way, just take a look round and see if you can catch a glimpse of those other two fellows."
"I see them, about ten miles behind," announced Herc presently. "They're coming right ahead, too. Traveling at a faster clip than we are, I judge."
"Let them risk their necks if they want to. We'll jog along easily," replied Ned.
For some time they sped on, above pastures and grain fields, and patches of woodland and meadow, threaded here and there by narrow streams which glittered in the bright sunlight like silver ribbons. It was, as Herc had said, "great." The blood ran faster, and every nerve tingled invigoratingly under the stimulus of the rapid advance through the air. All about them the shining stay-wires hummed and buzzed, giving out a shrill accompaniment to the steady drone of the motor.
"I'll slow down a bit now," said Ned presently."I'm anxious to see how she'll behave at reduced speed with extra weight on board."
As he shut down the power, the aeroplane descended perceptibly. The added weight of another passenger made her far less buoyant, as was to have been expected.
They were quite low, hovering like a big hawk above a small farm-house, when a sudden scream from below was borne to their ears quite distinctly.
"Hullo! What's that?" exclaimed Ned.
"It was a woman screaming," was the rejoinder. "We'd better drop down and see what's the trouble."
"Just what I think. It came from that farm-house."
"I know. Hold on tight, now; I'm going to drop fast."
Like a stone the aeroplane fell. The rapidity of the drop made both the aviators gasp. Just as it seemed inevitable that they must be dashed to bits on the ground beneath, Ned, by a skilfulbit of airmanship, brought his craft to a level keel, and alighted without a jolt.
They came to earth in an open meadow at the rear of the farm-house, a white-painted, green-shuttered place of comfortable appearance. As the machine stopped its motion, both lads leaped out and began running toward the house. As they neared it, a voice struck on their ears:
"Come on, now; no nonsense. Give me the money your husband has hidden here, or I'll hurt you."
Had the two Dreadnought Boys been able to see through the walls of the house, they would have beheld a terrified woman, in a gingham gown and white apron, cowering before a heavy-set man, who was brandishing a stout club. The fellow's look was desperate. His deep little eyes glittered menacingly under heavy, black brows. His bluish, bristly chin thrust forward truculently.
"Take these silver spoons," the woman begged, "and leave me alone. They are all I have."
"Don't try lying to me," growled the man, stepping forward a pace. "It won't go. I've heard around here that your husband is a miser, and I want the money he has hidden. Come, now, are you going to give it to me, or——"
He raised the club threateningly.
The woman paled, but stood her ground bravely.
"I have given you all the valuables we have in the house," she said. "If anyone told you my husband was a miser, they must have done it out of malice. We are poor farmers, and——"
"That'll do! That'll do! I'm tired of argying with yer. I'll look for myself. Stand aside, and look jumpy now, or——"
A scream burst from the woman's lips, as her brutal annoyer came toward her, his upper lip curled in a snarl.
But he had not advanced more than a couple of paces before an unexpected interruption occurred. A third voice struck into the scene.
"Stop right where you are, Bill Kennell, or there'll be trouble."
Kennell, for it was the disgraced and desperate bully formerly of theManhattan, whipped round in a flash. His recognition of the Dreadnought Boys, who stood in the opened kitchen door, was swift as theirs had been of him.
"Ned Strong!" he exclaimed in a husky voice.
"Not forgetting Herc Taylor, Bill," grinned the freckle-faced youth. "You don't seem exactly glad to see us."
"Oh, whoever you are, thank heaven you have come!" cried the woman. She reeled backward, overcome by the reaction of her feelings, and would have fallen if Herc had not jumped forward and seized her in his arms.
At the same instant, Kennell, who had lost none of his former agility, crouched and sprung like a wildcat at Ned. But if he had thought to catch the Dreadnought Boy off his guard, he was dreadfully mistaken. Ned jumped nimbly to one side, as Kennell rushed at him, and the bullycarried by the impetus of his onrush, crashed against the wall. He recovered himself in an instant and came back at Ned with formidable force. But once more Ned was ready for him. The Dreadnought Boy dived suddenly, as Kennell raised his knotted club, and, coming up under the man's arm, caught him a blow on the chin that caused the former bully of theManhattanto reel and stagger.
But, as if he had been prepared for some such result of his onslaught, Kennell, without an instant's loss of time, produced a pistol from somewhere amid his tattered garments.
Before Ned could make another move, a hot flame fanned his face; a loud report rang in his ears, and he felt a sharp, stinging pain in his head. Then he lost consciousness.
As he fell with a crash against a chair, bringing it a splintered wreck to the floor with him, Herc deposited the fainting woman on an old-fashioned settee, and sprang with a roar of anger at Kennell. But as he did so, two other figuressuddenly appeared in the open doorway of the farm-house kitchen.
"It's Bill Kennell!" cried one of them, who was no other than Merritt. He and Chance had seen Ned's descent, and had dropped, too, to see if, perchance, some bad luck had not overtaken their rivals. Hearing the uproar in the kitchen, they had hastened to it.
As Herc fairly leaped on Kennell, before the ruffian had a chance to fire another shot, Merritt took in the whole situation with the quick intuition of a man of his intellect.
Kennell, with Herc on the top of him, was tottering backward, and on the verge of falling helplessly before his powerful young antagonist, when Merritt, with a quick movement, picked up a heavy chair. Raising it, he brought it down with all his might on the unconscious Herc's head. The next instant the two Dreadnought Boys lay senseless on the floor of the kitchen, one of them seemingly badly wounded.
HERC GETS "A TALKING TO."
When Ned came to himself, it was to find the farmer's wife bending over him and laving the wound on his head with warm water. Herc, with a quizzical look on his face, stood nearby.
"Whoof!" he exclaimed, as Ned opened his eyes. "What struck us?"
"I guess a bullet nicked me," grinned Ned; "it isn't much of a wound, is it?"
"Only grazed the skin," the farmer's wife assured him. "I am so thankful. It would have been terrible if either of you had come to serious harm through your brave act in my defence."
"Oh, that's all right, ma'am," said Ned, scrambling to his feet, "glad to have been of service. But whatever hit you, Herc?"
For Herc was holding his head now, with a lugubrious expression.
"Blessed if I know. Wish I did. I saw you fall, and jumped in to land Kennell. I grabbed him, and was bearing him down, when something that felt like a locomotive hit me a fearful wallop. Then I went to slumberland."
"Oh, how frightened I was, when I recovered my senses, and saw you two brave lads lying on the floor," said the farmer's wife, almost overcome at the recollection.
"Well, unless this house is haunted by spooks, who can hit as hard as steam-hammers, we'll have to come to the conclusion that Kennell had some confederates," decided Herc.
"The whole thing has a queer look to me," admitted Ned, with a puzzled look. "I can't make it out at all. You are sure that the fellow who annoyed you had no companions, madam?"
"I'm certain," declared the farmer's wife positively. "He came here soon after my husband drove off to town. He asked for something to eat, which I gave him. When he had finished he frightened me by demanding money. I gave himwhat little I had, but he insisted that my husband had more concealed about the premises. If you had not come in time, I do not know what I should have done. But whom have I got to thank? You—you," looking hesitatingly at the queer combination of aviation costume and regulation jackie uniform the lads wore, "you aren't soldiers, be you?"
"Not yet, ma'am," rejoined Herc gravely, "although at times we are tempted to soldier."
"We're soldiers' first cousins," laughed Ned.
"Oh, I see, sailors. But then, what is that contraption out there?" She pointed out of the window at the aeroplane. "I saw one like it at the county fair. Be you flying sailors?"
"I guess that's just what we are, ma'am," laughed Ned. "And that reminds me that we must be getting along. It is going on for noon."
He appeared about to go, and Herc was following his example, when the woman checked them.
"Oh, you must not go till you have told meyour names," she said. "My husband would like to thank you personally for your bravery."
"As for our names, they are soon given," said Ned. "But for thanks—I guess it's the duty of Uncle Sam's sailors to do all they can to help the weak, and——"
"Land the bullies," finished Herc, with a flourish of his fist.
"Only this time it looks as if the bully had landed us," put in Ned, with a chuckle.
"Humph!" grunted Herc, feeling his head ruefully. "But," he added, cheering up vastly, "we had him on the run, anyhow."
"That's so," agreed Ned, "and I see, 'by the same token,' as Mulligan says, that he was in such a hurry he left the spoons behind him."
He pointed to a scattered heap at the door which the farmer's wife pounced upon gratefully. The spoons were all there but one, and Kennell's exit must have been hurried, to judge by this fact. Evidently he had dropped them by accident and had not tarried to pick them up.
While the farmer's wife looked on in wonderment, and not a little fear, Ned and Herc prepared their machine for flight. In a little less than ten minutes' time, they had taken the air with a roar and whirr, throwing the domestic animals about the place into panic. Without incident they winged their way back to the aviation field, arriving there in time for a hearty noon-day dinner at the farmhouse.
Ned's head was bandaged, and Herc's cheek was swollen, but they volunteered no explanation of their injuries, and Lieutenant De Frees concluded that they had met with some slight accident of which they did not care to speak, and deemed it best not to ask questions.
During the noon-day meal, Ned watched the countenances of Merritt and Chance narrowly. Although he had not the slightest thing to base his belief upon, an obstinate idea had entered his head and would not leave it, and that was, that they had, in some manner, something to do with the occurrences of the morning. He mentionedthis to Herc afterward, but was laughed at for his pains.
"It was some sort of a hard-hitting ghost that landed me that sleep wallop," declared Herc, who, as we know, was reprehensibly given to slang on all occasions.
The afternoon passed quietly. Merritt and Chance asked leave to go into the town, which was not far off, and they were granted an afternoon's furlough. In what manner they employed it, we shall learn before long. Ned and Herc watched them go off, arm in arm, and Herc turned to Ned with an indignant snort.
"Whoof! I'll bet those chaps are up to some more cussedness. Look how they've got their heads together. Wonder what they are plotting now?"
"Don't know, and don't much care," laughed Ned; "tell you what, Herc, you'd better get out and practice, instead of wasting time on speculations over Merritt, Chance and Co. By the way, I wonder what they would say if they knew thattheir old acquaintance, Kennell, was at large and up to his old tricks?"
"Join him, probably. Especially if it was in anything that would make trouble for us," returned Herc. "But what are you going to do this afternoon?"
Herc had noticed that Ned had not donned his aviation "uniform."
"I? Oh, Lieutenant De Frees told me I could get my drawings in shape for his examination of them to-night. He is to have one or two naval experts at his quarters, whom he is anxious to show them to. Herc, old boy, maybe we're on the highway to fame."
"Maybe you are, you mean," flashed back Herc. "I guess I'll be the same old stick-in-the-mud till the end of the chapter."
"Nonsense. Use your initiative. Think up something new in connection with our present line of work."
"A new way to tumble, for instance," grinned Herc.
"There you go. That's your great fault. You can never be serious for two minutes together."
"I can, too," remonstrated Herc indignantly. "That time I was in the brig on theManhattanI was serious till—till they brought my dinner."
Ned couldn't help laughing at his whimsical chum's frank way of putting things. But presently he resumed, more seriously.
"Come, Herc, you don't do yourself justice. You laugh away your real ability. Look here, I'll give you an idea to work on. See what you can do with it."
"I'm all cheers—ears, I mean," declared Herc, leaning forward in interested fashion.
Ned realized that the flippant tone hid real interest. Without seeming to notice it, he went on.
"One of the most needed improvements in the modern aeroplane—I mean where it is used in warfare—is a perfected appliance for bomb-dropping. The present way is pretty clumsy. An aviator has to let go of his controls with one hand while he manipulates his bomb-droppingdevice with the other. Some bit of apparatus that would do the work, say by foot-power, would be a big improvement, and add a whole lot to the effectiveness of the machine using it."
Herc kindled to enthusiasm while Ned talked. His careless manner vanished.
"That's like you, Ned," he said with real warmth of affection, "always ready to help a fellow out. I'll try to work out something on the lines you suggested. It's time I did something, anyhow. But the idea will still be yours, no matter what I do with it."
"Pshaw!" chuckled Ned, "didn't Shakespeare work over old stories into great plays?"
"I suppose so," agreed Herc, who did not care to display his almost total darkness concerning the late Mr. Shakespeare and his methods.
A CONSPIRACY IS RIPENING.
"That you, boys?"
The speaker emerged from a patch of gloomy looking bushes, masking an old stone bridge.
"Yes, it's us all right, Herr Muller. On time, ain't we?"
It was Chance who spoke. Close behind came Merritt and another figure.
"Yes, you're on time, all right. But who's that with you? I don't want outsiders mixed up in this."
Merritt came forward with the third member of the newly arrived party. "This is Bill Kennell, an old chum of ours," he said. "He's all right, and we may find him useful in our plans."
"Very well, if you'll vouch for him."
It was noticeable that all trace of accent had now vanished from Herr Muller's tone. In fact, except for a very slight trace of foreign pronunciation,impossible to reproduce, he spoke remarkably good English.
"Oh, we'll vouch for him. And now to business," said Merritt, seating himself on the coping of the bridge. "You said this afternoon that you, as representative of the New York group of International Anarchists, would pay us well to keep you in possession of the latest moves of the United States navy."
"Yes, yes," responded the other eagerly, "we wish to know all—everything—I am authorized to pay you well for such information."
"But why—why do you want it?" demanded Chance bluntly.
"I will tell you. We anarchists hate all law and order. We wish to be a law to ourselves. All law is oppression. Such is our teaching. Navies and armies represent power and help to keep law and order, therefore, when the time comes, we wish"—he paused reflectively—"to destroy all such tools of oppression."
Chance, calloused as he was, gasped.
"You mean you would dare to destroy or try to damage, the property of the United States?" he gasped.
"I mean what I said, my young man."
"Oh, say, count us out, then. That's too much for me. Say, Merritt, let's be getting back."
"Hold on a minute," snarled the masquerading photographer, changing in an instant from a docile creature into an alert, dangerous martinet, "you can't refuse to fall in with my plans now. If you do I shall crush you. You are in my power now."
"Pooh!" scoffed Merritt. "How do you make that out?"
But, though he strove to make his tone easy, there was an under note of anxiety in it.
"How do I make it out? In this way, my friends: If you are false to your promises to me, I shall denounce you to the government authorities. I have witnesses to all that you said this afternoon in my room at the hotel. The man you thought was a waiter was in my employ,and is an anarchist, like myself. That shabby little peddler who came to sell some cheap jewelry was another of the same belief. They heard all you said. Moreover, they saw you accept money from me——"
"But you told us that all you wanted us to do was to get those plans from Ned Strong when he comes along this way from the lieutenant's house to-night," gasped Chance.
"Yes; but I may have other uses for you. Rest assured that you are in a web from which you cannot escape. If you try to play false to me, I will have you sent to the place which Uncle Sam reserves for traitors and spies."
"Oh, well," said Merritt slyly, "we may as well make the best of it. Let's talk business. In the first place, did you bring the disguises?"
Herr Muller, as we must know him, rejoined in the affirmative. "I have them in that old barn," he said.
"Very well. The time is getting along. We had better go up there and assume them. By theway, have you any pistols for us? We couldn't smuggle out our service revolvers."
"Pistols!" scoffed the other. "What do you want pistols for? Are there not three of you against one? And I will be in reserve in case he proves too much for you."
"Um, I know; that's all very well," muttered Chance, "but you don't know this fellow Strong. He's as powerful as a bull, and will fight like a wild-cat."
"But he's up against overpowering odds to-night," Merritt rejoined, with regained confidence. "This is the time that Ned Strong, the favored paragon of the navy, is going to get his—and get it good."
"You can bet he is," agreed Chance and Kennell, with clenched teeth.
"I've got a few scores to pay off on my own account," added the latter.
"Well, here are your disguises," said Herr Muller, striking a match and indicating a bundle in one corner of the barn. Presently he produceda pocket flash-lamp, and held it cautiously while Merritt and Chance, two traitors to the United States, invested themselves in the rough-looking garments he had provided. They were complete, even to false whiskers. When they had attired themselves in the tattered clothes and adjusted the remainder of their disguises, two more disreputable-looking specimens of the genus tramp than Merritt and Chance presented could not have been imagined.
"You'll do finely," declared Herr Muller, with deep satisfaction, when the preparations were concluded. "I'd be scared of you myself, if I met you on a dark road," he added, with peculiar humor.
"How about me?" asked Kennell. "That 'Dreadnought Boy,' as they call him, knows me."
"Pshaw! that's so," said Herr Muller. "Well, see here," producing a handkerchief, "tie this over the lower part of your face and you will be well enough disguised."
"I reckon so," agreed Kennell, adopting the suggestion.
In the meantime, Ned had been practically the guest of honor at Lieutenant De Free's quarters. Two or three other naval officers were present, and they all displayed frank interest in the bright, intelligent youth and his invention, which he explained at length.
"But, my dear De Frees," one of them—a young ensign named Tandy—had declared, "you can say all you like about the aeroplane in warfare. In efficiency it will never take the place of the submarine, for instance. I'm willing to wager any amount that on any night that I held the deck, an aeroplane, equipped with pontoons or anything else, could not, by any possibility, approach within a hundred yards of my vessel."
"You really think so, Tandy?" queried Lieutenant De Frees good-naturedly. "Well, I tell you what we will do: At some other time we'll meet and talk it over. If you are still in the same mind, we will draw up conditions for sucha test. It should be interesting and of great value theoretically."
"Yes," laughed Tandy, "it will demonstrate the fact that no aerial craft could torpedo or blew up a war vessel at night without being perceived in time. Therefore, what is the use of equipping the ships with such craft? They take up valuable room and waste a lot of money which would be better spent on guns and ordnance."
"I agree with you, Tandy," said Lieutenant Morrow, a veteran of many years' service, "from my observation of aeroplanes, one could not get within bomb-dropping or torpedo-aiming distance of a war vessel at night. Why, the noise of their engines would alone betray their nearness."
"But what if she glided up on pontoons?" smiled Lieutenant De Frees.
"The same thing would hold good," declared young Ensign Tandy, with a confident air.
Of course, Ned, as a petty officer, could nottake part in this conversation, but it made a deep impression on him. After warm good-nights from the officers, who really felt an admiration for this clean-cut and self-respecting, although perfectly respectful young sailor, Ned set out on his homeward way. In his breast-pocket—or rather tucked inside his loose blouse—he carried the plans of his invention.
It was quite dark, with the exception of a pallid light given out by a sickly moon, that was every now and then obscured altogether by hurrying clouds. Ned walked along quickly, at his usual swinging pace. His thoughts were too much upon his invention for him to pay much attention to his surroundings.
All at once, however, he stopped short and listened for an instant. But not a sound, except the sighing of a light, night wind in the trees that bordered the road, disturbed the stillness.
"Funny," mused Ned; "I could have been certain I saw a light flash by that old bridge rightahead. I guess I'm seeing things, too, like Herc."
So thinking, he struck once more into his regular pace. A few steps brought him into a patch of velvety shadow caused by the thick-growing shrubs and alders that edged the creek which the bridge spanned.
"What a spot for a hold-up!" thought the young man-o'-war's-man, when he entered the blackness. As he did so, a sharp chill struck him. A keen sense of impending danger caused him to swing sharply around.
It was well he had heeded his intuition, for, as he turned, a heavy bludgeon whistled by his ear. It had been aimed for his head, but his sudden and unexpected move had saved him.
For a breath, Ned stood rooted to the spot. Then his eyes blazed with anger.
"Come on, you skulking thieves!" he cried in a high, clear voice, "I'm ready for you!"