CHAPTER IIITROUBLE BREWS
THEY awoke the next morning to find that their adventure of the day before had made them famous. The newspapers all told of the fight for life over the flying fields of Long Island. They told of the real courage of the two men and the boy when an unforeseen mishap had so nearly ruined their plane and their chances for a long distance record.
A reporter from one of the newspapers had questioned the mechanics in charge of the plane, and hinted that one of them had been careless in reassembling the undercarriage after the new stream-lining had been put in place. This was most difficult to prove. Certainly Jack and the Skipper did their best to decide from an inspection of the wreckage of the broken axle what the trouble had been.
The Skipper had great confidence in the two mechanics, Cosgrave and Billings, who were looking after the plane, and felt quite sure of their loyalty. Jack was not so sure. He had taken a dislike to Cosgrave, and several times had voiced his distrust to the Skipper.
Billings
Billings
Billings
About Billings, who was an English engine expert, there could be no possible doubt. He had been the Skipper’s engine sergeant in France. There was nothing particularly handsome about him. He was rugged, square, had large ears and a shock of black hair hanging in his eyes. He was always covered with grease, and grit was ground into his hands. His finger-nails were always outlined in black. He was bandy-legged, and even in an army uniform he looked anything but soldier-like.
After the war Billings had gone back to England and had tried to keep busy, but times were hard and there was an over-supply of skilled mechanics. He had drifted over to America, and had been working for several years at the factory that had built the engine for the Skipper’s plane.
When the factory head had received the order for a specially built engine for a particularly long non-stop flight, he had sent for Billings and told him that here was an engine that must be watched through all its construction, from the tiniest nut and bolt, to the moment of its great trial. Nothing must be overlooked. Everything must be tested and re-tested.
“It will make or break our reputation, for I have every confidence inCaptain McBride who is going to make the try,” he said.
Billings’ face lighted up.
“That wouldn’t be Skipper McBride—er—Captain Malcolm McBride—would it, sir?”
“Yes, that’s the man. A pilot with plenty of experience and the habit of being lucky.”
“Why, sir, I was with him in France for a year. He’ll do it, and there’s nobody would like to help him more than me. Is he here? Could I see him?”
“No, but if you want to write him, here’s his address. He hasn’t come East yet.”
So in the Skipper’s mail one morning a few days later was a letter from Billings:
“Capt. Malcolm McBride, D.F.C.,
Dear Sir:
I take my pen in hand to tell you that this is your old Sergeant Billings of No. 206 Squadron. You will remember me from the old days in France, especially the time you took me up for a ride and threw the old Bristol fighter about until I lost my false teeth, and had to get leave to go back to London to get a new set fitted.
I am working now for the company that is building your engine, and you can rest assured that I will watch it, Captain, until it is ready for delivery. What I was wondering was, wouldn’t you be needing some one to look after it until your hop-off? I would like nothing better than that job. I think I could get a leave to help you if you would write to Mr. Block.
Hoping this finds you “in the pink” as it leaves me,
Yours respectfully,
C. M. Billings.Ex-Sergeant R. A. F.”
To say that the Skipper was pleased, is putting it much too mildly. Of course he remembered Billings. Billings had been with his squadron during all his flying days in France. Billings had been the last man he had seen as he left the ground each day, and the first man to greet him as he landed and taxied up to an open space in front of the old Squadron hangars.
“Engine all right, sir?” Billings would ask, even before the Skipper had swung his cramped legs out of the plane.
Billings’ personal interest in those engines had been almost motherly. Once, returning from a trip to the “lines,” the Skipper had been caught in an almost tropical downpour of rain, which made it necessary for him to land and spend the night at an airdrome about thirty miles away from his own. When he did get back to his own field, Billings had seemed about to take the whole engine apart just to make sure that it had not been mistreated while away.
Here, surely, was the sort of loyalty that would be needed in their new adventure. Therefore the Skipper lost no time in wiring East to make sure that Billings would come with the engine and help them off to their goal.
Of Cosgrave, both Jack and the Skipper knew very little. He had been recommended by the people who had built the plane, and had seemed to go about his work willingly and to do it well. He had apparently obeyed all their orders, and was ready to help at all times. He had even offered to bring over a cot and sleep in the hangar so as to “keep an eye on the plane.” This he had done, and was always there early and late.
Jack had said to the Skipper one night, “I like Cosgrave all right, but I can’t say as much for some of his friends.”
The Skipper had thought little about this until the accident with the wheel. Then he began to wonder if Cosgrave were on the level or if there were something underhanded going on. The whole thing might bear a little watching. But surely no one could have any object in stopping their flight. True, there were others who would like to get the prize money and the prestige it would bring.
Another group of men with a plane almost as good as the Skipper’s were at a nearby field, and were getting a good deal of publicity. Every day the papers carried new stories about their plane. However, the gossip heard around the hangars told of quarrels and dissensions between the pilots and their powerful backers. Lawyers had been busy drawing up contracts and counter-contracts. It seemed hardly possible to the Skipper that their activities would carry them so far as definitely to try to interfere with him and Jack.
He dismissed the whole thing from his mind, and with his usual energy began to put the plane into shape with as little delay as possible. His confidence in his stream-lining idea for the wheels was unshaken. However, the few minutes they had been in the air had given them no check on their speed.
Repairs of a temporary nature had to be made quickly at the army field. A new propeller was ordered.
During the two days these repairs were going on, Kiwi had a chance to see and explore this new field. All during the day army planes fully equipped with guns were taking off and landing and practising close V formations over the field. The pilots’ uniforms with their silver wings were a welcome change from the golf clothes that most of the men at the other field wore.
True to his promise, the Skipper took Kiwi into New York, where they went to a huge store on Madison Avenue and ordered a tunic and breeches to be made for him. Kiwi secretly hoped that Dad would buy him some field boots such as he wore, but Dad seemed to think that leather puttees would do as well. The salesman in the store had recognized the pair from their newspaper photographs, and they were the center of attraction during their stay.
The man who took Kiwi’s measure remarked about his straightness and his sturdy shoulders. He said it would take a week for the uniform to be finished, and Kiwi could hardly wait to see it.
However, the days passed. The new propeller was fitted. The plane was flown back to the old hangar and the tests went on.
It was finally established that the Skipper had been right—the new stream-lining had increased the speed of the plane by exactly eight miles an hour. There could be no question that it was an advantage.
Through one of Jack’s friends in the Navy, they met a chemist who was developing a new fuel, lighter in weight than gasoline and nearly twice as powerful. He was anxious for them to try it out on their flight to India. Their experiments with it had led the Skipper and Jack to believe that it was a real discovery, and they decided to test it out on a long flight before the big hop.
The tanks were nearly filled with the new fuel, and early one morning they took off for Washington. It was to be their longest test and would give them a good check on their speed and fuel consumption.
Kiwi was not to go along, but Bert had promised to take him on a sailing picnic that day. Several times Kiwi had seen Bert in his sailboat, with a crowd aboard, sail off up the bay, and he was torn between the desire to go with Bert and the feeling that he did not want to miss a day at the flying field.
Dad and Jack had been gone about half an hour when Bert sailed alongside the houseboat and Kiwi hopped aboard. They spent a glorious day along the sunlit shore of the Sound, and at noon put in to Mattituck where they built a fire on the beach and had their lunch. They roasted potatoes, fried some bacon, and romped with a friendly dog who came to visit them. The shore was wide and sandy, and about an hour after lunch they had a swim in the cool waters of the Sound.
On the trip back the wind died down, and they lay becalmed for nearly an hour. Then a light wind sprang up from another quarter. The sun sank lower in the west. They were still some miles from home. Bert finally gave up trying to sail, started the auxiliary engine, and they slowly chugged up the bay.
It was dark as they drew abreast the houseboat and there were no lights showing. Bert wrote a note and left it for the Skipper, and carried Kiwi off to his own home for dinner.
The day in the open had made him ravenously hungry, and the meal, served in the wide, cool dining room facing the shore, was doubly welcome for its touch of home.
Bert’s wife, who was waiting as they drew up to the little dock, had embraced Kiwi with a great squeeze as Bert called out, “How about some food for that boy?” She had had only fleeting glimpses of Kiwi since the day of his arrival.He had seemed so busy with the men folks. However, she must have had some experience with small boys, for several times pies, cakes, and doughnuts had been sent out to him. He liked her cheery bustling about the dining room. It called to mind his mother who seemed to be somewhere in his shadowy past. He had missed her terribly after she had gone, and tonight, seeing Bert’s wife so busy about the house, brought it all back to him.
Dinner over, they had gone out on the wide veranda in time to see a new moon climb up from the hills.
Bert had telephoned the field, and came back with the report that Dad’s plane had circled Washington, had wirelessed that all was well, and had started for Norfolk early in the afternoon.
The minutes dragged. More calls to the field brought them little comfort. The plane had been seen over Cape May, but no wireless call had come from it.
About nine-thirty Kiwi was packed off to bed, and as he lay there he heard Bert at the phone still calling the flying field.
Tucked into this strange bed in a spare room at the head of the stairs, he lay thinking about the plane. The cool white sheets, the chintz curtains at the window, the little knick-knacks on the dresser were unaccustomed and almost forgotten niceties. The wind and the sun during the day had made him drowsy, but he could not sleep for wondering what was happening to Dad and Jack.
It was so calm and peaceful there in the little room. The light breeze that stirred the window curtains only helped to emphasize this calm. Still, somewhere out along the coast, perhaps Dad and Jack were in trouble.
He tried to picture some adventure that might have befallen them. If they had had to land in the water, he remembered that they had no boat. The collapsible rubber one which they were to take on their trip across the ocean had not yet arrived. If they did have to land, he hoped that it might be near some farmhouse which would give them shelter for the night.
As he fell asleep, Bert’s voice came drifting up the stairs, repeating the words that had just come over the telephone, “No news.”