LORD CRAM
David found the trip to Ayre tedious; the hours dragged interminably.
His first night was sleepless, and he went into the dining-car for
breakfast rather late. He slipped into an empty seat at one of the small
tables for two. He found himself seated across from a thin, dark young
man a little older than himself. His pleasant good-morning was returned
by a mumbled greeting as the stranger glanced up, then hurriedly
transferred his attention to his food. He ate importantly, seeming to
put a vast amount of ceremony into the homely order of bacon and eggs
before him.
David ordered breakfast, and commenced to study his time-table. When he
laid it down, the stranger leaned across and remarked, “I meant to get a
time-table and forgot it. May I see yours?”
David handed it over with a pleasant word. The stranger, swaying to the
motion of the fast train, opened the folder. David had marked stops and
changes, and had drawn a black line around Ayre. The chap looked up, and
caught David’s eye.
“Ayre your destination?” he asked, and at David’s nod he continued,
“That’s where I am going, too. My name is Cram—Walter Cram.”
“My name is Ellison,” said David, “Glad to meet you.”
“Ellison,” said Walter Cram. “Not a very—well, I don’t know any
Ellison, myself. Never heard the name but once. I’ve got a book, ‘Great
Pilots of the World War.’ There is a pilot in that book named Ellison. A
great chap; absolutely fearless; did the most amazing things. His career
reads like a fairy story. You ought to get that book and read about him.
It would interest you on account of the coincidence of the name.”
“I expect it would,” said David.
Cram, once started, chatted on. He ran an appraising eye over David’s
neat but not new suit, his correct but worn hat, his well-kept but
muscular hands. He pulled out a watch, white gold, thin and racy-looking
in its general correctness.
“What time you got?” he asked.
David, with a smile, obligingly bit. He hauled out a large fat silver
timepiece on the turnip order, and gravely offered its moon face for
Cram’s inspection.
“Heirloom?” asked Cram compassionately.
“My grandfather’s,” replied David.
“How the old fellows loved those turnips!” said Cram. “I had an old hick
of a grandfather, a farmer out in the sticks. He had one of those, and
we couldn’t make him give it up. Same with yours, I suppose.”
“No, he wouldn’t give it up,” said David. “Used it all his life, then
gave it to me.” What use to tell Cram how that watch had been carried by
its intrepid owner into Africa, and through the jungles of South
America? It had lived in China, had skirted the steppes of Russia, had
been shipwrecked, and shot at. The dent on its fat back was the mark of
a poisoned arrow in Australia. No, his grandfather had never given it up
until, called at last to explore a far more distant and unknown country,
his dying hand had pressed it into the baby grasp of his grandson.
“Sentiment is a blamed poor thing,” Cram declared; then, as if he had
been too friendly, he rose abruptly, nodded and with a brief “See you
later,” went off, carrying the newspaper, and David’s time-table as
well.
With a sigh of relief, David tackled his bacon and eggs, and a second
man slid into the vacant seat. He looked directly at David with a pair
of keen blue eyes, around which curled thick fair lashes. His shock of
reddish-gold hair had been struggled with, but not subdued. His wide
grin disclosed dazzling white teeth, whiter by contrast with the deep
sunburn of his skin.
“Mind if I sit here, Buddy?” he asked cheerily.
“Not a bit,” said David, smiling in return.
“Name’s Ryan,” said the blond husky. “Kenneth Ryan.”
“I’m David Ellison,” said David, warming at once to the honest face and
clear gaze.
“Glad to meet you,” said Ryan, extending his hard and muscular hand. He
studied the menu card anxiously. “These here mennoos!” he groaned. “What
makes ’em have so many things to pick from? When I’m home I eat at
delicatessens, or Childs’; but this! Damfino what to choose!”
“I had oatmeal, and bacon and eggs, and cakes,” said David helpfully.
“Bully!” said Ryan. He looked up at the waiter. “The same,” he said,
waving a comprehensive hand toward David’s place. Then he settled his
elbows on the table.
“I seen you talking to Lord Cram,” he chuckled.
“For a few minutes,” said David. “You know him?”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know me, now. I used to go to school with him when
we were kids at St. Mary’s school in Lawton, Oklahoma. His folks
couldn’t send him to public school on account of the Mex and Indians
fightin’ him so because of the way he yelled. Beat any Indian war cry
you ever heard. Then his grandfather struck oil on his worthless farm,
and, lordymighty, the Crams just soared! No, he don’t know me. I’m just
a mechanic. How far are you going, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Ayre, Ohio,” said David.
“Ayre!” said Ryan. “Why, that’s where Cram is bound. That’s funny! By
golly, I bet you are both set to try that examination at the Goodlow
Plant.”
“I am, at any rate,” said David. “I don’t know about Cram. He didn’t put
out any information.”
“Afraid you might cramp his style. That’s him all over. You might jump
off the train ahead of him, and get the first taxi, and reach the plant
first, and grab off a job as vice president.”
“Are you going there, too?” asked David.
“Yes, I am, as it happens, but not for that apprentice course, worse
luck. I haven’t enough education. I want to land a job as mechanic. I
just can’t keep away from the flying machines, Ellison, and,” he added,
thrusting out a stubborn jaw, “if I get a chance down at Goodlow’s, I’ll
bet my bottom dollar that I will make a swell mechanic. I’ve nothing at
all above the collar,” he grinned, “but I own a damn good pair of
hands.”
“You will do,” laughed David. “Here’s hoping we both get in. We’ll see
something of each other if we do. I’ve got to write a note to my mother;
see you later.”
“Sure, sure!” said Ryan, beaming. “I camp in the smoker. So long!”
He watched David leave the car.
“Well, Red, we like that bozo, don’t we?” he told himself. “True blue,
if I can read a man, and a gentleman born. As my mother says, the mark
of character shows on a man, no matter how many overcoats he wears.”
Later, in the club car, David found Cram reading a magazine. He walked
up to him.
“You forgot to return my time-table, I think,” he said.
“Time-table? Oh, yes, here it is. I did take it, didn’t I? Sorry, and
thanks.”
“That’s all right,” said David, turning.
“Wait!” Cram exclaimed. “Sit down. I’d like to talk to you. I am
wondering if you are going to Ayre.”
“I think it is marked on my time-table,” returned David.
“I noticed it. It doesn’t happen that you are going down for the
examinations at Goodlow’s, does it?”
“On account of my name being the same as an aviator?” laughed David. “As
a matter of fact, I am going for the exams.”
Cram shook his head. “That’s almost too bad,” he said. “You’ve come a
long way, but I’m afraid you won’t have the ghost of a chance, unless
you brought a lot of credentials, letters from your teachers, and
congressmen, and senators, and so on. No? Well, they tell me it is going
to take a lot of pull to get in, a darned lot of pull. You see, these
people want to interest influence and money, and they are going to give
first chance to the applicants who can do ’em the most good that way.”
“That’s too bad,” said David, without showing any particular anxiety. “I
can’t show a letter from a single senator. I had an idea that this was
strictly a personal merit proposition.”
“Personal merit hasn’t a show these days, my boy.”
“What pull have you got?” asked David.
Cram put a hand on David’s knee.
“Boy, I have a suitcase stuffed full of credentials. I have enough to
paper a room! No need to worry over my chances.”
“That’s fine,” said David heartily. “I will have to depend on school
reports, and such things.”
He nodded, and walked away. He was depressed in spite of himself. The
cocksure arrogance of Cram was funny, yet it stuck in David’s mind. He
was glad to wander into the smoker and talk to Ryan, who greeted him
joyfully. He repeated his conversation with Cram.
“Aw, he makes me sick!” scoffed Ryan. “He may make the grade, at that,
though. He got to be quite a shark at his books, and he’s had a small
plane, so he can talk smooth and easy. Yeah, he may pass. Lots of ways
he’s not so bad. My brother Mike likes him.”
“You have a brother?” asked David.
“Six,” said Ryan. “Have you any?”
“Six? Gosh! No; I have two sisters.”
“Only two? I have five. That’s quite a houseful to bring up and dress
and feed, even in Oklahoma. No wonder we boys worked. But it did us
good, at that. I don’t begrudge any of it, except I was sorry that I
never could get the hang of my lessons. Some of us is smart, though. My
oldest brother was a chaplain in the army through the war. I wanted to
enlist last year, and told him so; and he said, ‘Red Ryan, you
no-account, if you go enlistin’ in the army for thirty a month and
found, I’ll find ye and I’ll not leave one strip of skin on your back,
and the Pope and me will excommunicate you beside.’ He’s a murderin’
cuss. I’m not one to butt into your affairs, Mr. Ellison, but don’t you
give Wally one worrisome thought. You’ll pass. I like your
straight-looking eyes, and so will they.”
David laughed. “Why, you fuss me, Ryan,” he said, “but I am going to get
in. I have got to pass; and if I fail this time, I’ll get work with you,
and study nights, and try for the next class.”
“That’s the stuff, me lad!” cried the redhead. “Not climbing up on
nobody’s shoulders. And Red Ryan’s the lad that’s going to stand by and
hurray when you’ve got where you’re goin’.”
But five days later, at the Goodlow Plant in Ayre, David did pass. As
anticipated, there was a mob of applicants. Scores of them, who saw in
flying an easy way of escaping the grind of ordinary toil. These soon
faded out of the picture, when they found out a little of the
requirements and routine of the strenuous years ahead, and left a few
real enthusiasts, boys who realized that aviation is humanity’s dream
come true.
How can we guess what hours the cave man spent, after a kill and its
resultant feast, lying on some mossy bank, watching the swift and
glorious flight of great birds, and longing to be as they? Then, ages
passing, the vision persisted with the winged beasts of the Apocalypse;
the flying steeds of Zeus; Pegasus, beautiful and free, winging his
glorious way toward the dawn, outracing the Flying Carpet; eager young
Icarus, his wings of wax melting in the sun. Ever aspiring, the dreamers
passed, laughing at Darius Green as he tumbled, and watching with bated
breath as the first hot-air balloons lumbered clumsily into the air! An
age-old dream that has never grown less alluring, never less lovely, but
depends at last on man’s own knowledge and desperate endeavor.
So, in the big austere room, where the Board of Judges met, the stream
of applicants slowly divided, one part to be absorbed again into the
arteries of the cities, the other part to face the final questions and
scrutiny of men well able to judge men’s capabilities, and read their
secret ambitions.
They were questioned in small groups; and David, when dismissed with a
number of others with the welcome assurance that they would be enrolled
as student apprentices, was unaware of the good impression he had made
on the examining board. As he was about to leave the room, someone at
his elbow called his name. A tall gray-haired man stood beside him.
“Are you Rick Ellison’s son?”
“Why, yes, sir,” said David.
“I am Colonel Porter. I am very proud to have known your father. He was
an ace of aces. His death, coming at that last moment of the war, was
doubly a tragedy and a great loss to the air service. You have something
to live up to, young man.”
“I am proud, Colonel, but if you don’t mind—well, sir, would you mind
doing me a favor?”
“Name it, son!” said the Colonel. “Doing a favor for Rick Ellison’s boy
would seem like doing something for him; and God knows anyone who knew
him would jump at that chance.”
“It is only this,” said David. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not have
it known here about father. He is too big for me. I want to see if I
can’t make good without leaning on his record. If it leaks out now that
I am Captain Ellison’s son, lots of ’em will watch me and perhaps be
kinder to me than I deserve.
“Don’t you see, sir, it is sort of like the ginks in old times, who used
to go out to kill dragons and rescue fair ladies carrying plain shields,
so nobody would know that their fathers were kings, until they had
proved that they were pretty hot themselves.”
“Absolutely; you are right!” said the Colonel. “I will not tell, but
don’t forget that I am David Ellison’s friend, for his own sake as well
as for the sake of his father.” He shook David’s hand and as the boy
went out muttered to himself, “Damned if that kid hasn’t killed his
first dragon, already; the dragon of dependence!”
Once outside, David sprinted for a telegraph office, and the glorious
news of his success ticked gaily off to his mother. Then taking his
suitcase, he returned to the Goodlow Plant, and at the barracks was
assigned his quarters.
On his way to find Ryan he saw Cram sitting outside the General Offices,
where the Board was working.
“What’s the glad news, Cram?” he cried.
Cram looked up.
“Well, there’s some hitch,” he said. “I guess they don’t know just which
class to put me in. They told me to wait until afternoon. I thought I
might as well stay right here.”
“Did they read all your dope?” asked David.
“They have it in there,” said Cram. “I’ll bet it knocks ’em cold. I told
’em all I could, but it was such a scramble. I don’t believe I touched
on the oil. Ready money, Ellison. A few family gushers to put into
improvements and all that. Yes, I ought to have mentioned the oil.”
“Well, I bet the oil will leak out sooner or later,” said David. “Good
luck!” He went on.
Two hours later as David skirted the big landing field, he saw Cram,
suitcase in hand, hurrying toward the taxi stand. David shouted, but he
did not appear to hear. Breaking into a run, David overtook him.
“What’s the decision?” he enquired.
Cram’s face was livid; his lips twitched.
“Ellison, they turned me down!” he announced. “Said I wasn’t
scholastically and technically qualified. Politics in it somehow, of
course. Or some personal grudge.” He swore roundly.
“Why, that’s too bad!” said David. The other’s bitter disappointment
roused a feeling of friendship that surprised him.
“I’ll get even somehow,” said the other. “Why, all I wanted was to make
a name for myself in something beside oil.” His eyes filled.
“Well, that’s all right. You study, and come back next year, and try
again. If you want any help or suggestions, write me. I’ll do what I
can.”
Cram did not reply at once. He smoothed his ruffled hair with a hand
that shook.
“I guess I’m like our Indians. Some grudges I never forget.”
“Be a good Indian then, Cram, and don’t tomahawk anybody until you know
just what’s what.”
Cram sneered, and with a glare over David’s shoulder walked hastily
away. David turned to see the cause of the venomous look. It was Red
Ryan, whistling lustily.
“Red, they kicked him out,” said David.
“Not Cram!”
“Yep, and gosh, he is sore! Wants to kill someone. Wants to be a bad
Indian, in fact.”
“Cram kicked out—”
“Not really kicked,” said David. He repeated Cram’s report.
“He’ll consider he’s been dynamited. Well, with my brother a priest, I’d
do better not to rejoice as I could. But if he’s gone, he’s gone, and
we’ve new jobs, and tough ones ahead of us.”