A STOWAWAY
Day whirled after day, filled with pleasant labor. Each morning the
Moonbeam was sent up for a flight which sometimes occupied but a few
hours, and sometimes stretched into the night. At first there were many
little things to do for her; adjustments, changes, the tightening of a
screw here, the tuning up of a brace there. Men watched the propeller
shafts, and listened to the smooth roar of the engines in their
throbbing “eggs.”
Captain Fraine, with his navigators at his side, tried for altitude and
depth; nosed up, swept down, turned the ship in majestic circles. She
responded perfectly. Her bulk, so much greater than that of any previous
dirigible, seemed to have no effect in the action of her great engines,
and she answered the wheel with absolute ease.
At mess one night Red strolled over to David’s table with a letter.
“From Padre Ryan,” he said.
David took the sheet. It was brief.
Dear Swan:
Your night letter enchants me. I rejoice that you’ve such a big
chance before you. And if you don’t uphold the honor of the
family I’ll lay the curse of Saint Morvin on you. He’s little
known, but most efficacious.
I’ll pray for you. As a child you had a bad way of leaning out
of upstairs windows. Have the ship screened.
Your devoted and loving brother,
John.
David laughed. “He must be a card, all right.”
“Well, he’s not so bad,” said Red. “A kindly priest, and a good son to
his mother. David, I’m all set for the take-off.”
So was David. On the morning of the fifteenth, he was the first man at
the hangar, and it was his hand that pressed the lever, putting in
motion the mechanism that slid back the great doors.
It was not yet dawn, but a vast mob packed the field. For months the
building of the great dirigible had been followed, detail by detail, by
an interested public. Her plans, charts and dimensions had appeared in
all the leading newspapers and magazines, accompanied by long articles.
Finally came the news of her completion. The announcement of the
round-the-world flight as her maiden effort was the spark which caused
the enthusiasm of the public to burst into flame. A year ago they had
watched the detailed accounts of the Graf Zeppelin, as radiograms marked
her flight.
Now a ship of their own; an American ship financed with American money
and manned, from the commander down, with Americans, was to essay the
same journey, hoping to better the time of the Graf Zeppelin. The papers
devoted pages to the anticipated adventure. Radiograms, cables, letters
of congratulation and good wishes, invitations from half the countries
of Europe asking Mr. Hammond to detour in their several directions and
stop off, were printed for the pleasure of a public which felt a
proprietary interest in the Moonbeam.
All night the field had been black with people. With fine democracy they
slept in their trucks, their flivvers, or their Packards, and at
intervals ate hot dogs and sandwiches. Hundreds of soldiers labored to
keep the field about the hangar clear for the departure of the outgoing
ship. And still they came. The first trolleys were packed with frantic
hordes that pushed and jostled to get near the ropes that had been
stretched along for hundreds of yards, and through which people
continually broke.
At last, as the crews walked the great gleaming shape out onto the
field, a deafening cheer broke like a portentous wave. Hoarse voices
cried, “Good luck, Moonbeam! Good luck!—’ray! ’ray! ’ray!—Go in and
win, Moonbeam! Beat the Zep! Beat the Zep!”
When Mr. Hammond’s car drove up, Dulcie hopped gaily out, her little
Pekinese hugged under her arm.
“Isn’t this jam perfectly terrific?” she said to Captain Fraine. “We
could scarcely get through.”
“Most of them have been here all night,” said Captain Fraine. “They’re
certainly enthusiastic. These troops the Governor sent down have had a
lively time keeping them off the field.”
“Any of the passengers here yet?” asked Dulcie.
“Most of them, although it’s early yet. They seem afraid the boat will
start without them!”
“I’m going on board,” said Dulcie. “I want to put dad’s bicarbonate
where he will see it. He always loses it, poor dear, whenever he gets
indigestion.”
“Plenty of time, Miss Hammond,” said Fraine, as he escorted her to the
steps leading up to the passenger gondola. “I wish you were going with
us.”
“So do I!” sighed Dulcie.
She went into her father’s cabin, and arranged several small bottles and
boxes on a shelf. Her father came in.
“Wish I dared take you with me, honey,” he said wistfully. “But I can’t
risk you, can I? If anything should happen—”
“It’s just as you say, daddy. I’ve teased all I have the face to. But
please don’t wave at me when you start. I might bust right out and cry.
So I’ll run right off and get lost in the crowd.”
“You behave yourself while I’m gone, Dulcie, and no running around with
that young bounder of a Greene chap back home.”
“I won’t speak to him while you are away,” Dulcie promised. “And I will
behave all the time exactly as though you had your eye on me.”
She kissed him lightly, and was gone, leaving him with a feeling of
loneliness and loss that overshadowed the pleasure of the take-off.
The engines were adding a deep roar to the human sounds. People strained
against those in front, and pushed them into the ropes. Small dogs
dodged into the open space and barked. The crew swarmed up and took
their places in the ship, with excitement written large all over them.
Two of the reporters paused for last-minute shots. Movie cameramen,
thanking their stars for the bright sun that had appeared, ground
frantically. Automobiles began to toot their horns as at length, the
last man on board, the ground crew of five hundred men walked toward the
ship from the spread-fan positions they had been holding. The twenty
thousand spectators let out a mighty roar; a sea of upturned faces
watched as the Moonbeam rose slowly, her motors drowning the noise of
the crowd.
From a window Mr. Hammond searched through his glasses for a familiar
little figure. “I thought the kid would wave me off, after all,” he said
to himself. “Wish now I had brought her along. At least I would know
where she was.”
“Couldn’t have had a better take-off, commander,” said Captain Fraine,
at his side. “Her engines simply sing.”
“Glad you are pleased, captain,” answered Mr. Hammond. “We’ll soon see
how she performs. We are out to make a record, as you know, and that
means a steady, day-after-day excellence. From Lakehurst to
Friedrichshafen is approximately forty-two hundred miles. We have got to
make up some of our time on that leg of the trip. I don’t know Russia at
all; in fact, I am a little dubious about it, although Dr. Eckener
experienced no trouble whatever.”
“Why didn’t you bring your daughter along, commander?” asked Captain
Fraine. “The Graf Zeppelin had a woman passenger.”
“I know, I know! I suppose I am just fussy over the kid. I wanted her
where I knew she would be safe. She’s going to the seashore. Hope she
won’t swim out too far.”
“Does she drive her own car?” asked Fraine, hiding a grin.
“Lord, yes, drives like the very devil.” He turned his back, and looked
down. The crowds were far away. “Buck up, buck up, you old fool!” he
told himself savagely. “She’s all right—but I’ll bring her along next
time.”
The sunlight was glorious; glittering and flashing, the ship circled
above Ayre, returned to her own field, and dipped low in a graceful
gesture of farewell, while the waiting crowds went mad. Rising, she sped
eastward toward Lakehurst, her first stop. Under her flowed the lovely
panorama of Ohio; gently rolling woodland, wide and opulent farms with
dark patches of plowed lands and the lush green of springing crops.
Towns appeared here and there, little huddles of houses at crossroads,
and large cities, where the smoke of manufactories spiraled lazily
upwards, as though pointing indolently at the passing ship.
David went into the chart room, and found Red poring over the passenger
list.
“I see we’ve got a medico with us,” he said.
“Yes, Dr. Forsythe; of course the Company would send their own doctor.”
“Here’s a big guy in his line,” said David. “Sanford Hamilton, of New
York, and a dozen other places. Has so much money he can’t count it, but
just can’t stop making more. Has the habit.”
“Wish I could get a habit like that. Well, the Ryans own the two most
worthless farms on God’s green earth, and I never can get over expectin’
to see a fine squirt of oil come leapin’ out of them, although the
experts say they are as dry as dust. Who’s next on the list?”
“Dr. Martin Trigg, and Dr. Nicholas Sims. They are the two old
professors from Princeton. Scientists of some sort—big bugs.”
“I helped ’em aboard,” said Red, chuckling. “One of ’em said ‘Thank you,
my boy, thank you,’ just as pretty, but the other looked at me till I
felt like a bug on a pin.”
“The next four I haven’t seen,” said David.
“Skip ’em,” counseled Red. “Reporters. Wild-eyed, sort of. You can
always tell ’em. Always huntin’ a scoop for the next edition, regardless
of time or place.”
“These two are men Commander Hammond is trying to interest in
dirigibles.”
“Uh huh,” said Red. “Be polite.”
“Emil Hausen—he’s a German. We leave him at Friedrichshafen.”
“I must practice my German on him,” said Red. “I know four fine
upstandin’ words: _Ach du lieber Augustin_. Would you think they’d sound
homelike to the poor wanderer, Davie?”
“Try ’em!” laughed Davie; “I’ll pick up the pieces.” He wandered off,
stopping to admire the salon. In one corner, at a small but perfectly
appointed desk, Mr. Hamilton already sat dictating rapidly to his
secretary. The great king of Wall Street was preparing to radio his
orders, keeping a tight rein on his active money.
At a window the two old scientists, Doctors Trigg and Sims, quarreled in
low, tense tones over something referred to in such lengthily technical
terms that David did not know whether they had disagreed about
dinosaurs, angleworms, or air currents. As David passed, the smaller of
the two men looked up and nodded.
“Well, son,” he chirruped in a pleasant crisp voice, “making fair
progress, I should say. This your first trip? Great experience;
illuminating, developing. Make the most of it—you are young. Perhaps
you will like it so well that before we have entirely circumnavigated
the globe, you will have sprouted mental wings and will accept the ether
for your habitat. I hope so—I hope so! Aerial navigation needs young
blood, young enthusiasms.”
“Bosh!” retorted the second sage, Doctor Sims himself. “Bosh! There is
no young enthusiasm; it’s grown old, money loving, comfort seeking; its
bones creak. Don’t I know? Don’t I teach about a hundred and fifty
youngsters every day of the week? Bah!”
“Sims, you are as dry as a dinosaur egg,” Doctor Trigg exploded. “As an
instructor in grades equaling yours, I am also in a position to collect
data and observe reactions. The world is moved by youthful enthusiasms.
It is, thank God, an inexhaustible force, propelling the world; a force,
Sims, which our instruments cannot gauge, which all your retorts and
chemical tests cannot resolve into its component parts. And let me tell
you, Sims, in the modern aviator there lives the spirit of the
adventurers of all time; a gallant, intrepid and invincible army that
comes marching down the gray ages to be reincarnated as the greatest of
all the cavaliers of chance.
“For centuries they have been crusaders; they have sailed uncharted
seas; they have braved killing heat and searing cold. They have fought
the dragons of every age and clime, wrestling with the earth for jewels
and gold, building glittering cities in desert places, throwing fairy
bridges from crag to crag. Now, spurning the reclaimed earth, they have
taken their indomitable courage and their boundless enthusiasm, Sims,
into the limitless sea of the air, whose currents and eddies and
tempests are more treacherous and terrible than ever beset any ocean.”
He had been tapping his words out on Doctor Sims’ bony knee. Suddenly
realizing an acute discomfort there, Doctor Sims removed the knee
abruptly, and looked up at David.
“Now you,” he remarked, ignoring his brother educator’s dissertation.
“You’re planning to be a big newspaper man, aren’t you? Eh?”
“Why, no, sir,” said David.
“Automobile tires, then—automobile tires,” Doctor Sims cut in.
He seemed about to launch on a tirade against tires, and David spoke
quickly. “I am an aviator,” he said, “and I want to thank Doctor Trigg
for what he just said. It is all true;” and looking at the doctor with a
light bow, he added, “and it is pretty fine for us youngsters to feel
that men like you understand us, and are with us.” He smiled the smile
that always won friends for him, and passed on into the little hallway.
Behind him he could hear Doctor Trigg burst into a loud cackle. He knew,
without looking, that Professor Sims was dodging a skinny finger.
“What a peachy old card!” thought David. “And can’t he just pour out the
language? He’s just right, too.”
In the hall outside the washroom he found Red. He seemed preoccupied.
“Hello,” he said. “Say, Dave, listen; do you hear a funny noise?”
David listened. “Why, yes. Sounds sort of squeakish. We are not near an
egg, and there’s nothing over us but the crew’s quarters, is there?”
“Nothing over or under; but it’s a darned queer noise. You can’t hear it
five feet away.” To prove it, he slid along with his ear pressed against
the partition. “It’s here, somewhere, right here by Mr. Hammond’s
cabin.” He went down on his knees. “Comes from low down. Now I can’t
hear it at all. Damn queer!”
David also knelt, and they listened in silence, staring at each other.
The sound was intermittent; a whiffling, wheezing squeak, and
occasionally a faint tearing sound.
“Fabric going,” said David anxiously. “It’s not a bag, because the
disturbance is low down by the floor.”
“Well, we got to find out about that,” declared Red. “It may be just a
piece of cloth rattling at a window, or something, but there mustn’t be
any unusual noises on a boat like this, where everything means
something. I’d hate to have to turn back now.”
They stood up as Mr. Hammond entered the passageway. David explained
their trouble.
“Under or over my room, eh?” he said, unlatching his door.
A small brown streak shot into the hall, recognized the paternal
trousers, whirled and fell at Mr. Hammond’s feet in an ecstasy of
delight.
“What the devil—why, you damned little runt, how do you happen to be
here? It’s Dulcie’s pup, Koko.” He picked up the little fellow and
petted him. “Dulcie must have shut him in my room while she was on
board, and then the poor kid was so upset when she left that she must
have forgotten the little beggar. Well, Koko, we can’t drop you offside,
can we? We will just send a ’gram to your missie, and take you with us.”
“There’s our funny noise, Red,” laughed David.
“Gee, you had me scared, you little scoundrel!” remarked Red, with a
sigh of relief.
“He hates to be shut up; I’ll bet he was chewing something up,” Mr.
Hammond chuckled. “Well, I’m glad he’s here. I wish I’d brought Dulcie,
too. She’d be just about as safe up here as she will be swimming and
canoeing and dancing, and racing all over creation in that damned car of
hers.” He looked at the boys, and saw that their eyes, staring over his
shoulder into the little cabin beyond, were filled with amazement,
amusement, and concern.
Red broke unexpectedly into a hearty laugh. “Well, Mr. Hammond—excuse
us, sir! Beat it, Dave!”
They bolted into the salon, and Mr. Hammond turned to his room. What he
saw there made his old heart leap. He dropped the dog.
“Dulcie!” he cried, and Dulcie ran into his open arms.
“You are a bad, bad girl!” he whispered presently. “You are a stowaway;
and you have made a fool of your poor old father. Who put you up to
this?”
“No one, daddy,” said Dulcie, rubbing her eyes which were full of tears
and her nose which bore a nice imprint of rough tweed. “I knew you
really wanted me, and you know my judgment is much better than yours in
such things, so I just stayed quietly in here. I knew you would come in
later, but Koko nearly spoiled it all. And you really do want me? I
heard what you said. It’s a lesson to you, too; your child is going
along wherever you go, and it only makes unnecessary scenes when you try
to stop her.”
Mr. Hammond blew his nose loudly.
“Well, darling, I am glad you are here. Yes, I’m delighted; but don’t
get it into your head that you have established a precedent. No, ma’am!”
“All right, precious. Now comb your hair; it looks all rat-taily. And
take your bicarb; it is long past time for breakfast. I’m starved. That
small suitcase is mine. I took your things out of it and put them all in
your other one. You are a rotten packer, daddy. Please move the man in
the next stateroom out when you get round to it. I’ll take it.”
“Do you mean,” said Mr. Hammond, grimly wagging a finger at the
suitcase, “that you had this all cooked up yesterday?”
“Oh, for weeks, daddy darling. Did you honestly think I would consider
letting you come alone? I’m surprised. I’m starved, too. What an
appetite this nice high air gives one!”
“Come on to breakfast then,” Mr. Hammond groaned. “Let’s get it over
with!”
“I don’t see any reason for you to be embarrassed, if I am not,” said
Dulcie, doing a little careful work with a lipstick. “It was frightfully
embarrassing for me to be left at home like a little girl.”
“Too bad!” growled Mr. Hammond, a twinkle in his eye that belied the
tone. “Too bad! Well, gimme that infernal soda, and let’s go.”
“What’s in there?” said Dulcie, pointing to a large box on a chair.
“Koko seems to think it’s something to eat. He nearly tore the paper.”
“He’s a smart little beggar,” said Mr. Hammond, in an offhand manner.
“Oh, yes, that’s yours, that box. Candy—thought you might like to have
it.”
“Daddy!” cried Dulcie, casting herself at him. “Daddy, you precious
adorable old lamb-pie! You knew I would come!”
“Well, I confess I did have hopes you would pull it off,” said the
adorable lamb-pie sheepishly.