Kitabı oku: «The Dreadnought Boys on Aero Service», sayfa 3
CHAPTER VI
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 to ask. 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 will visit 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 opening through 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.
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 glance[Pg 67][Pg 68][Pg 69] as 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 see the 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-night at 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.
CHAPTER VII
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 essential features 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 platform will be erected on the after-deck of the Manhattan. 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."
"You're improving as a poet every minute," laughed Ned, his alert eyes peering straight ahead and his hands firmly grasping the controlling wheel. "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 skilful bit 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 the Manhattan, 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 bully carried 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 the Manhattan to 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 figures suddenly 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.
