It meant war. The result of the class meeting was so accepted by
both the club and its opponents; and though Sam speculated long and
earnestly on the reasons for the sudden enmity, he did not attempt
to deceive himself about the ugly fact. It was plain that somebody
was shrewdly taking advantage of the situation to work harm for the
Safety Firsts, and he had no doubt of the identity of the schemer. Why
Zorn should have been moved to this pernicious activity Sam did not
know: mere lack of friendliness hardly explained it. Zorn had spread
the story of the Trojan’s disaster, and had added a most unfavorable
version of Sam’s participation. He had worked on popular prejudice
against both a cheat and a telltale. These things were to be regarded
as accomplished. The practical question remained, what was to be done
about them?
Sam had no ready answer to the question. The most he could do was to
counsel prudence to the more radical and excitable of the club, urge
all the members to watch carefully for anything which might have a
bearing upon the affair of the Trojan, and advise especially close
study of the doings of Zorn, in an effort to discover, among other
things, the cause of his active enmity. On this point the other members
of the club could give Sam little light. There had been no bitter
quarrel with Zorn; none of the boys could recall any ground for an
abiding grudge.
As was to be expected, the club drew closer together than ever. It
formed hollow square, as it were, against all attacks. On its side, the
other faction showed no desire for reconciliation.
Spring usually saw a series of inter-class baseball games. This year
was no exception to the rule; but none of the Safety Firsts played
on the Junior nine. The Trojan, perhaps the best second baseman in
the school, was passed over; Tom Orkney and Sam, both fair players,
were left out. Even the Shark, highly esteemed as an inerrant scorer,
was refused recognition. The slights were deliberate, inescapable,
undeniable. And baseball was but one among many instances of the
feeling of the majority of the class.
On the club’s part all this was received defiantly. Cold shoulder
was met by cold shoulder. Sam had no difficulty in keeping his chums
in line. Orkney aided him greatly in the task of coaching the Trojan
in Latin, and added timely and encouraging suggestions, which were
sorely needed. Still smarting under the sense of essentially unfair
treatment, the Trojan would have been glad to quit the school. Again
and again he rebelled at appearing at the recitations he was permitted
to attend, and it required all of Sam’s tact and firmness and Orkney’s
encouragement to hold him to his work under the existing conditions.
Herman Boyd also lent a hand occasionally, although he was not of much
help as a tutor. As for the Shark, he went his way imperturbably. Give
him a sufficiency of his beloved mathematics, and he cared not a straw
for the opinion of the multitude. Poke and Step had developed some
mysterious interest of their own, which kept them busy of afternoons
in Poke’s barn. Sam asked no questions about their enterprise. If they
wished to hold it a secret, he had no objections.
Sam, in these days, though, felt the double burden of responsibility
and unpopularity. Lon Gates, who made it a business to observe him
closely, noted his preoccupation and demanded the cause.
“Let’s put our heads together, Sam,” he advised. “They say it’s like
lumps o’ sugar in a cup o’ coffee--two’s better’n one. Come now! Out
with it!”
Sam hesitated. “I--I--what’d be the use?”
“Dunno yet; that’s for the pair of us to find out.”
“But----”
“But, to begin with,” said Lon briskly, “what’s Ed Zorn got against
you?”
“Ed Zorn? Who’s been telling you? I didn’t let it out, did I?”
“Dunno what you may have been talkin’ in your sleep, but I’ll acquit
you on what you’ve said while awake.”
“How did you find out?”
“Mebbe I hain’t found much--I’d like to know jest how much. That’s why
I’m comin’ to headquarters and askin’ you.”
Sam cherished independence, but at heart he welcomed this opening to
talk things over.
“Tell me what you’ve heard,” he suggested.
“After you, sonny--mebbe,” said Lon. “Fire ahead!”
Then Sam told his story, Lon listening most attentively.
“Umph! Fits like the two ends of a busted wish-bone,” he declared.
“Show me your end, then,” urged Sam.
“No. You go on. You’ve said what’s happened to your crowd. Now, what
are you tryin’ to have happen to other folks?”
Sam explained what the club had done. “We’re sticking together, of
course,” he added. “We’re trying to keep the Trojan up to the mark.”
“Hard work?”
Sam grinned a little wryly. “It isn’t as hard as it is going to be--I
can see that clearly enough.”
“Gesso--it’s the stickin’ part o’ the plaster that worries--and that
does the real good in the long run.”
“But you haven’t told your part of the story yet,” Sam pointed out.
“’Tain’t a whole lot. It merely bears out your notion that Zorn is
gunnin’ for you. But what’s his reason?”
“I don’t know,” Sam confessed. “We’ve been more or less on the outs,
but there was no trouble to justify such a grudge as he must have.”
Lon nodded. “My notion, too--from what I’d picked up by scoutin’ round.
And I have been seein’ and hearin’ all there was to hear and see, Sam.”
“What’s your theory, then?”
“Theory’s too strong a word--make it guess.
“Well, my guess is that if I was goin’ to prescribe for your case, I’d
dose you for politics--school politics. And if that guess is right,
I don’t wonder you’re worried. It’s your fust attack, and a feller
with his fust touch o’ politics is a good deal like a chap gettin’
acquainted with the hives--he feels as if he was in trouble all over.”
Sam grinned again. “You talk as if you’d had experience, Lon.”
“Umph! Guess I had! Run for third selectman once.”
“And they beat you?”
“They didn’t--that was jest the difficulty. I learned fast enough. And
I got enough. I was willin’ to doff the spangles and retire to private
life after one term, I tell you!”
“What happened to you?”
“A-plenty! But it’s your case we’re discussin’. Now, if I hain’t forgot
all I ever knew about youngsters, there wouldn’t naterally ’a’ been
all this stir and circus over a feller takin’ a book where he hadn’t
oughter ’a’ took it--and there wouldn’t ’a’ been, either, all this fuss
about your givin’ him away and turnin’ state’s evidence, and----”
“But I didn’t,” Sam interrupted.
“I know that well enough. So would the fellers in your class know it,
if they stopped to think over the kind o’ goods you’re made of. But
they ain’t stoppin’ to think, because the somebody who’s raisin’ all
the Cain is keepin’ ’em goin’. It’s a heap like drivin’ cattle. So
long’s they’re kept on the move, they’ll tramp along, raisin’ enough
dust to keep ’em from seein’ anything in particular. Same way with
humans! The driver at your school is takin’ care not to let the herd
stop and the dust settle. Pooty good manager, he is!”
Sam nodded. “Yes--if you call it managing.”
Lon was silent for a moment. Then said he, gravely:
“I’ve been talkin’ to you about politics. Now, there’s good politics,
and there’s bad politics; but I’m mortal sure it’s bad politics you’re
facin’. My tip jest backs up yours. I guess we can bank that between
’em we’re on the right track as to who’s doin’ things, even if we
don’t know why he’s doin’ ’em. But, after all, that ain’t the main
p’int--which is, what are you goin’ to do about it?”
“Why--why, I’ve tried to tell you.”
“You’ve told more about what you’ve done than about what you’re goin’
to do. So far, you’re all right, Sam. But what’s the comin’ program?”
Sam hesitated. “I--why, I suppose--I----” Then he had an inspiration.
“Look here, Lon! What’s your advice?”
“Stick to it!” said Lon emphatically. “Hold your crowd up to the mark.
You’re right; the other feller’s wrong. He’s bound to lose in the
end. If things didn’t work out that way in the long run, this old
world would ’a’ needed a ‘Tenants wanted’ sign back in the time o’ the
cave-men. Fight it out, Sam; fight it out, if it takes all summer!”
“Looks as if it might,” Sam confessed.
Lon dropped a hand on his shoulder. “You stand to your guns, sonny!
And you make your club stand to theirs. Find something to amuse ’em,
something outdoors. I’m great on the open-air treatment.... Let’s see!
If ’twas vacation, I’d say, go campin’. But, say! you can work a scheme
sorter in that line, anyhow. Why don’t you turn to and build a shack in
the woods near town? Oughtn’t to be too close--let ’em have plenty of
exercise, travelin’ back and forth.”
Sam meditated briefly. “I--well, I do know of that cracking place--out
by the lake. It’s pretty far, though.”
“That’s no objection--not for your purpose. Every time you walk ’em a
mile, there’s fifteen or twenty minutes used up that won’t be put into
mopin’. Get the idea?”
“Yes,” said Sam, “I do.”
“’Tain’t the wust I ever offered you, son.”
“The more I think of it, the better I like it,” said Sam; and departed
to offer Lon’s suggestion to the other members of the club.
The Trojan received it with indifference. “I don’t care--I’m just a
passenger,” he declared. Orkney at once said yes, and said it heartily.
Herman Boyd was ready for anything. The Shark had no objections to
interpose. Then Sam sought out Poke, and found him in his barn, with
Step bearing him company.
It was not lost upon Sam that when the pair appeared, in answer to his
hail, they took care to close the big door of the barn behind them. He
plunged at once into his errand, and was a bit disappointed to note
that neither of the others displayed much enthusiasm.
“Oh, I guess it’ll be all right--if you say so,” quoth Poke. “Of
course, we’re awfully busy, and there’s lots to do, and--er--er--but
you mostly know what you’re about, Sam.”
“Yes, but we’re mighty busy, you know,” contributed Step.
Sam glanced keenly at the pair. The hands of both were grimy, and
there were certain greasy spots on their clothes, which stirred his
curiosity and reminded him of the mysterious occupation to which they
had been giving their spare time.
“What’s up?” he demanded. “Out with it!”
Poke glanced at Step, and Step shot an uneasy glance at Poke.
“Oh, if it is something you don’t care to talk about----” Sam began.
Poke cleared his throat. “Ahem, ahem! It--look here, Sam! It is a sort
of a secret, and yet I don’t know why we shouldn’t tell you. Course, we
wouldn’t want it gossiped all over town--we can’t have the crowd coming
here and trying to get a sight of--of IT! But you--why, it’s different
with you, you know.”
“And he’d have to find out sooner or later, anyway,” said Step, in a
stage whisper.
“He would--might as well tell him now,” responded Poke. “But it’s to go
no farther,” he added, addressing Sam. “You’ll understand why, when I
tell you.”
“Fire ahead!” said Sam. “I can’t say I understand anything yet.”
There was no outsider in sight, but Poke lowered his voice.
“You remember that motor I bought? The one from the smashed
machine--haven’t forgotten it, have you?”
Sam had not forgotten the incident of the purchase from Mr. Haskins,
though he had thought very little about it for some days.
“What! That crazy deal?” he said. “What’s your game?”
“You may call the deal what you please,” said Poke with dignity, “but I
won’t admit it was crazy.”
“Never mind that part of it. Go on, go on!” Sam urged. He was
recalling, not too distinctly, a story somebody had told him of seeing
Poke and Step driving into town with something carefully covered in the
back of their wagon. “Go on, I say! You fished the motor out of the
wreck, didn’t you, and brought it in?”
“I did,” said Poke.
“We did,” Step corrected.
“Got it here?”
“Yes,” said Poke and Step together.
“Well, what are you going to do with it?”
Step started to say something, and changed his mind. The result was an
extraordinary gasp. But Sam understood. Tempted as he was to proclaim
great news, Step was surrendering that honor to his chum.
Poke drew a long breath. Then he spoke explosively:
“Flying machine! We’re making one!”
The reception of the sensational tidings should have satisfied Poke’s
yearning for dramatic effects. Sam dropped weakly upon a horse-block,
which happened to be conveniently near. He stared at Poke blankly.
“You--_you’re_ making a--a flying machine!”
“I am!” Poke declared promptly.
“We are,” Step hastened to amend.
Poke nodded. “Sure! That’s right. We’re both in it.”
“But it was Poke’s idea,” testified Step generously.
“Maybe, but Step has taken hold like a good fellow and helped a lot,”
averred Poke, not to be outdone in fairness.
Sam waved an impatient hand. “That’s all right. Tell me about the
machine. What is it? Zeppelin?”
“Of course not!” cried Poke. “Zeppelin nothing! It’ll be a plane.”
“Monoplane or biplane?”
“Why--why, we’re working on two or three plans. We’ll see which works
out best. They say a monoplane is faster, and a biplane safer. We
haven’t settled all the details yet.”
“Go ahead! Tell me some more.”
“Yes, let him have the whole thing,” Step advised.
“Well, it was this way,” Poke explained. “You know that day out by the
lake? When Haskins told us about the machine running away with him, he
mentioned that it had a mighty high-speed motor--one that’d do in a
flying machine, he said. That set me thinking.”
“Poke’s a crackerjack when it comes to that sort of thing,” Step
observed admiringly.
Poke modestly disregarded the tribute. “Struck me, Sam, there was my
chance. You know I’m in debt to all you fellows----”
“Nonsense!” Sam broke in. “We’ve told you to forget it.”
“How’s a fellow going to forget such things? I couldn’t, if I
wanted to. And I saw my chance. You know what they pay aviators for
exhibitions at county fairs and such places?”
“No! Do you?” Sam asked pointedly.
“Yes, sir, I do! Hundred dollars a crack! Read it in a paper.”
“Oh!”
“Well, I saw the whole thing in a flash. If I got that high-speed
motor and rigged up a plane, and learned to run it--why, two or three
exhibitions would pay all my debts and put me on Easy Street. And think
of all the fun I’d have! And Step--he--well, minute I suggested it to
him, he saw the whole thing just as clearly as I did.”
“Don’t doubt he did,” said Sam.
“So he said he’d take hold and help. He did, and we’re working
together. He’ll be entitled to a full share in the credit.”
“Except for inventing the idea, to begin with,” Step corrected.
“Oh, there’ll be glory enough for all,” said Poke easily.
Sam coughed. “H-g-h! I--I guess I understand. Say, though! Your folks
know about all this?”
“They know we’re doing something in the barn. And they don’t care.”
“Said so, have they?”
“Well, not--not exactly. But they haven’t tried to stop us. We don’t
keep a horse now, you know, so they don’t have to come out this way
often. But they wouldn’t mind, anyway.”
Sam did not press the point. “Look here, Poke!” said he. “I don’t
know much about flying machines, but the little I know makes me think
they’ve got to be all right, or they’ll be all wrong. So, unless you
understand how to build ’em----”
“But I do! Saw an article in a magazine and saved it. It’s just full of
diagrams and dimensions and all that sort of thing.”
“But there must be problems of weights to be lifted--engine weight,
your weight, and so on. And you’ve got to figure out the size of the
planes to suit the load and the power.”
Poke waved a lordly hand. “Humph! Don’t you suppose I know that? And
don’t you suppose I’m looking out for such details? Well, I am! You
trust your Uncle Dudley to be crafty in a thing like this!”
“But----” Sam began; then checked his speech. It was clear that Poke
and Step were committed to their amazing enterprise. On the strength of
long acquaintance with the pair he had no doubt that somehow or other
they would contrive to come to grief; but he failed to see that there
was anything he could do about it. Moreover, there were certain present
advantages to the Safety First Club in having two of its members so
thoroughly occupied.
Poke wagged his head sagely. “Don’t think, Sam, that I’m going into
this thing blindfolded. It’s a scientific scheme, and I’m putting it
through scientifically. Just you wait and see!”
“All right--I’ll wait. But isn’t there anything to see yet?”
The others exchanged glances.
“Why--why, no,” said Poke. “You can come in and take a look. Of course,
we’re messed up, but maybe you can get an idea of what we’re at.”
Sam followed him into the barn. Because doors were kept closed and
horse blankets had been hung at windows to preserve secrecy, the place
was somewhat dim; but he made out the motor, set upon a pair of wooden
horses, with a confusion of wrenches and other tools about it. In the
background was a gaunt framework of bamboo poles and wire.
“For the planes,” Poke explained. “We’re still experimenting. But we’re
getting there; we learn something every day.”
Sam made observation as closely as he could, but without great
enlightenment.
“Well, live and learn,” he remarked, non-committally. “And when do you
expect to have the--er--er--the thing finished?”
“Oh, pretty soon,” Poke told him. “We’re getting along faster than
you’d think. Step is a star at a job like this.”
“Well, I do seem to be able to work out Poke’s ideas when he can’t do
it himself,” Step admitted.
Sam cleared his throat. “Ahem, ahem! I--well, I guess my opinion isn’t
of much value, anyway. But there’s something else I want to talk about
with you fellows. Now, listen!” And he repeated, rapidly but clearly,
the project for a camp near the lake.
Step did not appear to be impressed, but Poke was more responsive.
“Great scheme, Sam! Good sport! Besides, it’ll give us a chance to have
the try-outs with the machine without a whole parcel of folks looking
on and yawping. Those open fields this side of the woods by the lake
will be a bully place--nice and private and plenty of elbow room. Say,
I’m with you!”
“Then I am, too, of course,” said Step. “When’ll you start in?”
“Very soon,” Sam told him.
Poke furrowed his brow. “Say, I’m afraid we won’t be able to help much
at first; we’ll be busy here, you know. But a little later----”
“Oh, that’ll be all right,” Sam hastened to assure him. “The main
thing’s to keep the club together.”
“Sure!” said the others in chorus.
“And that’s always the main thing,” Poke added heartily.