by Frank Cobb
CHAPTER IX
Setting the flash so it would not go out, Bill laid it down on thefloor, cried "Oh, you robber!" and beginning to laugh continued until hehad to lie on the floor and roll around. Frank, laughing, too, carefullyshoved back the bed. The intruder sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"I guess the joke is on me," he said.
It was Horace Jardin!
"This beats everything in my young life," said Bill as soon as he couldspeak. "What are you doing here anyhow, scaring the life out of two poorlittle boys on their very first night in boarding-school? Don't you knowyou are making us break rules the first shot?"
Horace laughed sheepishly.
"I was going to give you a good old scare," he said, "but I was so tiredand it took you so long to get here that I went to sleep. But I bet youare surprised to see me here."
"Here at this school, or under our beds?" quizzed Bill.
"Both," said Horace.
"How did it happen?" asked Frank.
"It was the airplane," explained Horace. "This is the only school in thecountry where they let you fool with this air stuff, and so I told dadthat it was no use bribing me with an airplane to stay in school allthe year if I couldn't go where I could use it. I have learned to fly,by the way. Dad paid a dollar a minute to have me taught. I tell you Iam a whiz! It cost him five hundred dollars for my tuition, and twothousand more to mend a plane I broke, but he was so pleased at the wayI learned that he didn't mind the bills at all. So here I am, and when Iheard you were coming--well, I was certainly tickled! So I sneaked inhere as soon as the bell rang for lights out, and first I knew I wasasleep."
"From the way you were snoring, I should say first thing you knew youwere awake," laughed Frank.
"Guess I will beat it now," said Horace. "There is no schoolto-morrow--just the organization of classes, and we can go down to thehangars and see my plane. You ought to see those dinky little hangars!Not much like the big government ones. There are only three planes. Mineand one belonging to the school, and one that belongs to a fellow fromToronto. It is a peach, and he thinks he can beat me in a race. We aregoing to try it out some day if we can ever get up without aninstructor. They are awful strict here. I will have a deuce of a time ifthey catch me in here."
"I should think you had better fade away then," said Frank uneasily. "Wedon't any of us want to get in wrong."
"Well, I am glad you have come, fellows," whispered Jardin, tiptoeing tothe door. "Put out that flash, Bill! You don't want to tell everybodywhat we are doing. See you in the morning. Goodnight!".
He slipped out, and the boys silently crept back into their beds.
"That beats all!" exclaimed Bill after a long pause when he decided byFrank's breathing that he was still awake. "I surely thought we werequit of that chap."
"You always have it in for him, haven't you?" said Frank. "You are afunny one. Always cracking up that Indian orderly of yours as such apeach and a straight fellow, and forever knocking a first-class goodsport like Jardin."
"I didn't mean to knock Horace," said Bill, "but he does seem--well, Idon't know just what!"
"I guess that's about it," sneered Frank. "Just about it! You don't know_why_ you knock him or what about, because you have just made up yourmind to do it. Well, suit yourself! I like Jardin and he is good enoughfor me, and that's all I have to say about it. You can do as you please;don't mind me."
"Don't get so sore," said Bill. "I told you back home that I was goingto treat him decently, and I am."
He turned on his pillow and was silent, and both boys were asleep inabout a minute. They were very tired.
Early in the morning Jardin introduced the Toronto boy, and they foundhim a very quiet, pleasant chap who made no pretensions of any sort.Together they walked down to the hangars.
"How do you learn to fly in the civilian schools?" asked Bill of theToronto boy, whose name was Ernest Breeze.
"It is about the same as the government schools," said the boy. "Youknow something about flying, don't you?"
"A little," replied Bill modestly. "I can control the machine on thefield, but I have never been up. There are reasons that keep me fromflying but I hope to some day."
"Well, we learned on an old style Bright," said Ernest. "With a dualcontrol, you know. You take the same seat you will always occupy, youfollow every movement of the instructor beside you, and you sort of feelthat you are managing the levers all alone, until you sense the tricksof the machine and learn a few things like rising from the field,manoeuvering and landing. It is a good deal easier than it is to drivean automobile."
"That's the way you start at the aviation schools in the Army," saidFrank. "But there you don't have to pay any of this dollar-a-minutebusiness."
"No," said Ernest, "but in exchange for your tuition you have to jointhe Aviation Corps. And now that the war is over, I would rather dopostal work, or ferry or excursion lines instead of hanging around anArmy aviation camp. My aim is to be as perfect a flier as I possiblycan, and then if there is ever any need of another Army Aviation Corps,why, I will enlist right off. You see your final test qualifies you forgovernment service if you make good."
"What do you think is the quality a birdman should have most of?" askedBill.
"Our instructor used to say a pilot should have courage, skill,knowledge, aptitude and confidence; but he always went on to say thatall these together amounted to very little unless you have a bushel ofcommon sense. I think he was right. I had to earn part of my tuition inthe Aviation school because I didn't want to ask my father to pay allthat out for me and get me an airplane beside. That is why I am justentering school. As long as the war lasted, I thought I ought to belearning something that would help a bit if they needed me, but it endedbefore I got a chance to offer myself, and now I have got to work mightyhard to make up for the time I spent in the air. That's why I am here. Iwant to keep in practice and fly whenever I am not busy with schoolwork."
He looked critically at the sky.
"It is going to be a wonderful day up there," he said. "Don't you wantto come up, one of you?"
"Frank is going with me," said Jardin.
"Come on then," invited Ernest, smiling at Bill.
"I am sorry, but I can't go up," said Bill, flushing.
"Bill likes to stay on the ground pretty well," sneered Jardin, pushingopen the door of the hangar. He disappeared within, followed by Frank.
"Well, that's all right," said Ernest, smiling pleasantly. "I don't seeas it is anyone's business what you like to do. I think if you feel abit uneasy you are very wise to stay right on the ground."
"It is not that at all," said Bill, acting on a sudden impulse to tellthis pleasant young stranger the reason for his refusal. "It is notthat, and the reason probably won't interest you. Frank and Horace arealways kidding me about it, but I can't help it. You see, I promised mymother that I wouldn't go up. She has a bad heart, and a shock like mygetting hurt would certainly kill her. I can't risk that, can I? Andwhen you come down to it, it is just as you say. I don't see as it isanybody's business what I do."
"I rather think not," said Ernest, clapping Bill on the shoulder. "Iguess if you were in _my_ boat, with no mother to do things for, youwould be glad enough to give up a thing like that. What do you care_what_ they say?"
"I don't," declared Bill, "only they always give people the impressionthat I am afraid. And I am not."
"Of course you are not!" exclaimed Ernest. "That bores me awf'ly! Let'sget my little boat out. You don't mind skating around the field, doyou?"
"Tickled to death!" said Bill eagerly, and hastened into a place in thetrim, beautiful little plane.
The moment they were set in motion he saw that the plane was a wonder.It answered to the slightest touch of the wheel or levers and rode thehumps on the field with a motion that told Bill, experienced as he wasin that part of the sport, that it was made of the finest possiblematerials.
His admiration finally burst into speech.
"What a beaut
y this is!" he roared over the blast of the throbbingengine.
The young pilot turned a lever, and the racket subsided into a soft,steady humming.
Bill repeated his remark. Ernest stopped the plane and, getting out,commenced to adjust the engine.
"I see she needs a little tuning up this morning," he said, pulling offhis gauntlets and fishing a screwdriver out of one of the many pocketsin his aviator's coat. Bill joined him.
"It _is_ a good machine," admitted Ernest. "I am certainly proud to ownit. It is too good a machine for me but I am as careful of it as I knowhow to be. I think so much of it that I never try any fool stunts withit. Dad says it was worth all he put into it just on that account. Hesays that perhaps I would forget to take care of my own safety, but heis sure I will never fail to look after this little pet. For instance,when I was learning to fly three years ago (and I don't consider that Ireally know how to do it yet) they tried to din it into me that I mustalways keep the tail of my machine a little higher than the nose, incase the engine should go dead when I wasn't expecting it."
"What would happen then?" asked Bill, deeply interested.
"Well, if the aeroplane is correctly balanced with the tail a littlehigher than the nose it will be ready for a glide if the engine goesdead, and on the other hand it is apt to lose headway, and go down tailfirst. And that, you know," added Ernest, laughing, "is often veryuncomfortable for the occupants of the car."
"I should say so!" agreed Bill.
"Chaps make such a mistake trying to build their own cars," said Ernest."More accidents come from that than people realize. While the war wasgoing on, no one had time to tinker at building, but now half the chapsI know are studying up and attempting to make aeroplanes for themselves.
"It just can't be done. For instance, every piece of wood used in amachine must be tested with the greatest care. A chap can't do thathimself. Every piece of wire used has got to be stretched in a machinespecially invented for the purpose. For instance, to find the breakingstrain of a piece of wire, a piece fifteen inches long is placed betweenthe jaws of a standard testing machine, so that a length of ten inchesof the wire is clear between the two ends. What they call the 'load' isthen put on by means of a handle at the rate of speed of about one incha minute. You can't do this yourself, and by the time you have sent yourwire, or have taken it where the test can be applied, and have also hadthe test made on the twist of your wire, and all the woodwork, you willhave a machine that will cost more than one made by skilled workmen.There is another test too that is very necessary. That is for your wingfabric. It ought all to be soaked in salt water. If the fabric has beenvarnished, the salt will soften it. Then dry the sample in the sun andif it neither stretches nor shrinks, you will know that it is all right,and you will feel safe about using it."
"I took in all I could learn, without actually going up, at the Aviationfield at Sill," said Bill. "I will get my chance some day. I wrotemother this morning, telling her about our trip and all, and I asked herif she thought she would sometime feel like letting me fly. I didn't_ask_ her to let me, you know, but I have a hunch that something mighthappen sometime and I might almost have to fly. So I told her just howI felt about it. Whatever she says goes."
"That's a good sport!" said Ernest, smiling. "It seems to me that Iwould be willing to give up anything in the world if I could have mymother alive to make sacrifices for. Of course I have dad, and he is acorking pal and just an all-round dear, but a chap's mother isdifferent, somehow. I think you were wise to write that letter, for younever know what might come up. If your mother is what I should think sheis, she will understand that you are not trying to fix a loophole foryourself or tying a string to your word of honor."
"No, she won't think that," said Bill positively. "Mother and Iunderstand each other. I can trust her and she knows she can trust me.It makes things nice all around. She will be _crazy_ about this machineof yours. Perhaps she will take a little glide with you, if she doesn'tfeel like actually going up. She has promised to come on and spend theThanksgiving vacation with me."
"Good work! That makes me feel glad that I can't go home. I am going tostay right through the whole year and put in some extra work during thevacations."
"Mom will like you too," said Bill. "She will want to know all about theplane, and when she gets through listening she will know 'most as muchas you do. There is one thing I am afraid of, if I should fly, and thatis spinning. Now if you begin to side-slip, either outward or inward,you are apt to commence to spin, and--well, there is usually a speedyand more or less painless end to you and your hopes."
"I think, Bill, that you will have no trouble in learning to control amachine when your mother feels like releasing you from your promise. Iknew of a fellow once who made a long and successful flight with nopreparation at all other than what he had learned from books andobservation."
"I don't believe I would want to try anything like that," laughed Bill,"but I am stowing away all I can gather here and there."
"The thing for you to do," said Ernest, "is to roll around the fieldsevery chance you get. I will be glad to take you with me any day orevery day that you feel like going. Of course you won't have very muchtime after to-day except on Saturdays. To-morrow classes will be in fullswing. Get in now and take my seat."
Ernest tucked his screwdriver deep in his pocket, pulled his gogglesover his eyes and, seating himself behind Bill, directed his actions. Athrilling two hours followed for Bill.
When at last they returned to the vicinity of the hangar from which theyhad started, they found an excited and angry group around HoraceJardin's aeroplane. Something was wrong with it and the two mechanicsworking over it were unable to find out why the machine refused to fly.It refused, indeed, to rise from the ground and the engine worked with apeculiar jolt. The sound of the bugle from the high ground in front ofthe mess hall called them to lunch and they went off, leaving the menstill at work. Horace was in a very bad humor, and as usual indulgedhimself in a number of foolish threats, the least of which was to scrapthe whole machine.
"I will do it sure as shooting!" he blustered. "If that machine isn'tgoing to come up to the maker's guarantee, I will make my dad get me onethat will. I won't tinker round with any one-horse bunch of junk likethis looks to be."
"Give it a chance," suggested Bill soothingly.
"Not a darned chance!" declared Jardin. "I tell you my father promisedme an aeroplane, and he has got to come across with a good machine! Hewill do it, too. He's too stuck on me to risk my being hurt. And heknows it is not my fault. I can fly all right."
"Don't junk it, anyhow," said Frank anxiously.
"Want to buy it?" asked Bill.
"I might," said Frank, "provided Horace doesn't charge too much."
"If she won't fly, I will sell her to you for five hundred dollars,"declared Horace. "You can tie a string to her, and Bill here can haveher to lead around the lot."
"That's a go," said Frank. Everyone laughed, but a look of cunningsuddenly flamed in Frank's eyes. He commenced to lay a train forJardin's anger to burn upon, a sort of fuse leading up to the explosionFrank wished. He cast a quick glance at the others. It was evident thatthey took the whole conversation as a joke. But Frank, with an arm overJardin's hunched shoulders, commenced pouring into his willing ears astream of abuse directed at the makers of Horace's beautiful plane, andan account, invented on the spot, of divers people who had thrown overtheir planes for just the reason which had so angered Horace. Frank,with his real working knowledge of flying learned at the greatest ofschools, was able to talk in a most convincing manner. Horace, sunk in asullen silence, listened closely.
