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FAMOUS FLYERS AND THEIR FAMOUS FLIGHTS
By
CAPT. J. J. GRAYSON
[Illustration]
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING COMPANY
Cleveland, Ohio -- New York, N. Y.
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Copyright
_by_
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUB. CO.
1932
_Printed in the United States of America_
by
THE COMMERCIAL BOOKBINDING CO.
CLEVELAND, O.
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CONTENTS PAGE
CHAPTER I--Exciting News
CHAPTER II--Captain Bill
CHAPTER III--The Wright Brothers
CHAPTER IV--Some War Heroes
CHAPTER V--The Eagle
CHAPTER VI--More About The Eagle
CHAPTER VII--A Close Shave
CHAPTER VIII--North Pole and South
CHAPTER IX--Four Women Flyers
CHAPTER X--Hawks and Doolittle
CHAPTER XI--Hal Comes Through
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FAMOUS FLYERS
AND THEIR FAMOUS FLIGHTS
CHAPTER I--Exciting News
Bob Martin stood outside the large red brick house and whistled. He
whistled three notes, a long and two short, which meant to Hal Gregg
inside that Bob wanted to see him, and to see him quickly. Something was
up. At least, that was what it should have meant to Hal, but evidently
it didn't, because no answering whistle came out to Bob, and no head
appeared in any of the windows.
Bob whistled again, this time a little more shrilly, and he kept on
whistling until a pale, spectacled face appeared at an upstairs window.
The window was thrown open, and Bob shouted up before Hal Gregg had a
chance to speak.
"Hey, what's the idea of keeping me waiting? Hurry up, come on down,
I've got something great to tell you."
"Hold your horses. I didn't hear you whistle at first. I was reading,"
called down Hal.
Bob snorted. "Put it away and hurry up down. Books can wait. You should
hear the news I've got to tell you."
"The book's swell," said Hal. "It's that new book on aviation I got for
my birthday. Is your news more important than that?"
"You bet it is," yelled Bob. "And if you aren't down here in two
seconds, I'm going to keep it to myself. And won't you be sorry!"
Hal laughed. "I'll be down in one second. I'm not going to have you
knowing anything I don't know. You're too smart now." The dark head
disappeared from the window, reappeared atop the narrow shoulders of its
owner at the front door within a few seconds, bobbing about as he leaped
down the front steps two at a time. Hal Gregg joined his pal Bob under
the maple tree on the Gregg front lawn.
The two boys made a strange contrast as they flung themselves down in
the shade of the tree. They were the same age, sixteen, with Hal having
a little edge on his friend. But Bob could have passed for the other
boy's big brother. He was a full head taller, his shoulders were
broader, his complexion ruddier. He was the typical outdoor boy, with
tousled brown hair, a few unruly freckles, and a broad pleasant face.
Hal Gregg was short and slight, with sloping narrow shoulders. His
complexion was dark, and his large, serious eyes were hidden behind
shell-rimmed eye-glasses. Yet though they were such a badly matched
team, the two boys were fast friends.
Their friendship had begun strangely. In the first place, they lived
next door to each other, on a quiet, shady side-street in the large city
of Crowley. Bob had lived there first, while the red brick house next to
his had been empty for a long time. Nobody Bob's age had ever lived in
that house, and he had grown to look at it as an old fogey sort of a
house, very dull, and fit only for grownups. It didn't seem as though
young people could ever live in it. So he'd been pretty much excited
when he found out that the house had been sold, and that a boy his own
age was going to move in.
But his first glimpse of Hal was a disappointed one. "Oh, golly, just my
luck," he said to his mother. "Somebody my own age moves in next door at
last, and look what he turns out to be."
Mrs. Martin had also caught a glimpse of Hal as he had got out of the
automobile with his mother, and entered the house. "He seems to me to be
a very nice boy," she said quietly.
"Nice! That's just the point. He looks as though he's so nice he'll be
as dull as ditchwater. I'll bet he's the kind that can't tell one
airplane from another, and buys his radio sets all made up, with twenty
tubes and all kinds of gadgets. Lot of fun I'll have with him!"
Mrs. Martin smiled and said nothing. She was a wise mother. She knew
that if she praised Hal too much he would seem just so much worse in her
son's eyes. So she resolved to let him decide for himself, just as she
always let him decide, whether he wanted Hal for a friend or not.
For several days Bob saw nothing of Hal, but one day, as he rode his
bicycle up the driveway that separated the two houses, he heard someone
hail him. He looked over into the Gregg yard and saw Hal there,
stretched out in a steamer chair, an open book in his lap. He looked
very small and puny. Bob got down from his bike. He was embarrassed. Hal
hailed him again. "Come on over," he called.
Bob got down and walked over to where the other boy was sitting. The
meeting between two strange boys is usually a hard one, with suspicion
on both sides. But Hal seemed surprisingly pleasant. "I've seen you
riding around," he said, "but I haven't had a chance to call you before.
I'm Hal Gregg. You're Bob, aren't you?"
"Sure," grinned Bob. He was beginning to think that this Hal might not
be such a bad sort. "How did you know?"
"Oh, I'm a Sherlock Holmes. Anyway, I've heard your mother calling to
you. And if she calls you 'Bob,' that must be your name."
Bob laughed, "You're right, she ought to know," he said. But he didn't
know what to say next. Hal filled in the gap.
"You go swimming a lot, and bicycling, don't you?"
"Sure," Bob replied. "That's about all a fellow likes to do in summer.
Don't you swim?"
Hal's forehead wrinkled. "My mother doesn't like me to go swimming," he
said. "I've never had a bike, either. You see, my mother's always afraid
that something'll happen to me. She hasn't got anybody but me, you know.
I haven't got a father, or any other family. I guess that's what makes
Mother so anxious about me."
"My mother never seems to worry very much about me," said Bob. "At
least, she never shows it."
Hal looked at Bob enviously. "You don't have to be worried about," he
said. "You're as husky as they come."
Bob felt himself getting warm. This wasn't the way for a fellow to talk.
All of his friends called each other "shrimp" or "sawed-off," no matter
how big and husky they might be. None of them ever showed such poor
taste as to compliment a fellow. He guessed, and correctly, that Hal
hadn't been with boys enough to learn the proper boy code of etiquette.
But he just said, "Aw, I'm not so husky," which was the proper answer to
a compliment, anyway.
"You sure are," said Hal. "You see, I was a sickly child, and had to be
taken care of all the time. I'm all right now, but my mother doesn't
seem to realize it. She still treats me as though I was about to break
out with the measles any minute. I guess that's about all I used to do
when I was a kid."
"With measles?" laughed Bob. "I thought that you could get those only
once."
"Oh, if it wasn't measles, then something else. Anyway, here I am."
Bob's opinion of the boy had sunk lower and lower. He saw that they
weren't going to get on at all. Why, the boy was nothing but a
mollycoddle, and not much fun. "What do you do for fun?" he asked,
curiously.
"Oh, I read a lot," said Hal, picking up the book in his lap.
Bob's mind was now more firmly made up. A fellow who spent all his time
reading was no fun at all. And he needn't think that Bob was going to
encourage any friendship, either. "What's the book?" he asked.
"A biography," said Hal.
"Biography!" thought Bob, but he looked at the title. It was a life of
Admiral Byrd.
Bob's eyes lighted up. "Oh, say," he said, "is that good?"
"It's great," said Hal. "You know, I read every book on aviators that
comes out. I've always wanted to be one--an aviator, you know."
Bob sat up and took notice. "Gee, you have? Why, so have I. My Uncle
Bill's an aviator. You ought to know him. He was in the war. Joined when
he was just eighteen. I'm going to be an aviator, too."
"You are? Have you ever been up?"
"No," said Bob, "but I'm going some day. Bill's going to teach me how to
pilot a plane. He's promised. He's coming to visit us some time and
bring his own plane. Dad takes me out to the airport whenever he can,
and we watch the planes. I've never had a chance to go up, though."
Hal's eyes clouded. "I hope you get to be an aviator," he said, "I don't
think that I ever shall. My mother'd never allow me to go up."
"Oh, sure, she would," consoled Bob, "if you wanted to badly enough.
Have you ever built a plane? A model, I mean?"
"Have I? Dozens. One of them flew, too. You've got to come up to my
workshop and see them," said Hal eagerly. "I read every new book that
comes out. I think that airplanes are the greatest thing out."
"You've got to see my models, too. I made a _Spirit of St. Louis_ the
year that Lindy flew across the Atlantic. Of course it isn't as good as
my later ones. Say, we're going to have a swell time, aren't we?" At
that moment Bob knew that he and Hal were going to be good friends.
And good friends they were. There were a great many things about Hal
that annoyed Bob no end at first. Hal was, without a doubt, his mother's
boy. He was afraid of things--things that the fearless Bob took for
granted. He was afraid of the dark--afraid of getting his feet wet--afraid
of staying too late and worrying his mother. And then he was awkward.
Bob tried gradually to initiate him into masculine sports--but it irked
him to watch Hal throw a ball like a girl, or swim like a splashing
porpoise. But he had to admit that Hal tried. And when he got better at
things, it was fun teaching him. Bob felt years older than his pupil,
and gradually came to take a protective attitude toward him that amused
his mother.
Mrs. Martin smiled one day when Bob complained about Hal's awkwardness
in catching a ball. "Well," she said, "you may be teaching Hal things,
but he's teaching you, too, and you should be grateful to him."
"What's he teaching me?" asked Bob, surprised.
"I notice, Bob, that you're reading a great deal more than you ever
have. I think that that's Hal's influence."
"Oh, that," said Bob, "why, we read the lives of the famous flyers,
that's all. Why, that's fun. That's not reading."
Mrs. Martin smiled again, and kept her customary silence.
The strange friendship, founded on the love of airplanes, flourished.
The boys were always together, and had invented an elaborate system of
signals to communicate with each other at such times as they weren't
with one another. Two crossed flags meant "Come over at once." One flag
with a black ball on it meant "I can't come over." These flags, usually
limp and bedraggled by the elements horrified the parents of both Bob
and Hal when they saw them hanging in various intricate designs out of
windows and on bushes and trees in the garden. But since they seemed
necessary to the general scheme of things, they were allowed to go
unmolested, even in the careful Gregg household.
The friendship had weathered a summer, a school year, and was now
entering the boys' summer vacation again. It was at the beginning of
this vacation that Bob whistled to Hal and called to him to come down to
hear his wonderful news.
"Well," said Hal, "spill the news." It must be said of Hal that he tried
even to master the language of the real boy in his education as a good
sport.
"Bill's coming," said Bob, trying to hide his excitement, but not
succeeding very well.
"What?" shouted Hal.
"Sure, Captain Bill's coming to spend the summer with us. He's flying
here in his own plane."
"Oh, golly," said Hal, and could say no more.
Captain Bill was the boys' patron saint. It had been through his uncle
Bill that Bob Martin had developed his mania for flying. Captain Bill
Hale was Bob's mother's youngest brother, the adventurous member of the
family, who had enlisted in the Canadian army when he was eighteen, at
the outbreak of the war. When the United States joined the big battle,
he had gone into her air corps to become one of the army's crack flyers,
with plenty of enemy planes and blimps to his credit. A crash had put
him out of commission at the end of the war, but had not dulled his
ardor for flying. For years he had flown his own plane both for
commercial and private reasons.
As Bob's hero, he had always written to the boy, telling him of his
adventures, encouraging him in his desire to become an aviator. He had
never found the time actually to visit for any length of time with his
sister and her family, but had dropped down from the sky on them
suddenly and unexpectedly every so often.
But now, as Bob explained carefully to Hal, he was coming for the whole
summer, and was going to teach him, Bob, to fly.
"Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy," Bob chortled, "what a break! Captain Bill
here for months, with nothing to do but fly us around."
Hal did not seem to share his friend's enthusiasm. "Fly us around? Not
us, Bob, old boy--you. My mother will never let me go up." Hal's face
clouded.
Bob slapped him on the back. "Oh, don't you worry. Your mother will let
you fly. She's let you do a lot of things with me that she never let you
do before. We'll get her to come around."
But Hal looked dubious. "Not that, I'm afraid. She's scared to death of
planes, and gets pale if I even mention flying. But that's all right.
I'll do my flying on the ground. You and Bill will have a great time."
"Buck up," said Bob. "Don't cross your bridges until you come to them.
We'll work on your mother until she thinks that flying is the safest
thing in the world. And it is, too. We'll let Captain Bill talk to her.
He can make anybody believe anything. He'll have her so thoroughly
convinced that she'll be begging him to take you up in the air to save
your life. See if he doesn't! Bill is great!"
Hal was visibly improved in spirits. "When's Bill coming in?" he asked.
"Six tonight," said Bob. "Down at the airport. Dad says that he'll drive
us both out there so that we can meet Captain Bill, and drive him back.
Gee, wouldn't it be great if he had an autogyro and could land in our
back yard?"
"Maybe he'll have one the next time he comes. What kind of plane is he
flying?"
"His new Lockheed. It's a monoplane, he says, and painted green, with a
reddish nose. It's green because his partner, Pat, wanted it green.
Pat's been his buddy since they were over in France together, and
anything that Pat says, goes. It's got two cockpits, and dual controls.
It's just great for teaching beginners. That means us, Hal, old boy.
Listen, you'd better get ready. Dad will be home soon, and will want to
start down for the port. Say, does that sound like thunder?"
The boys listened. It did sound like thunder. In fact, it was thunder.
"Golly, I hope it doesn't storm. Mother won't let me go if it rains."
Bob laughed. "I wouldn't worry about you getting wet if it stormed," he
said. "What about Bill, right up in the clouds? Of course, he can climb
over the storm if it's not too bad. But you hurry anyhow. We'll probably
get started before it rains, anyway."
At ten minutes to six Hal, Bob and Bob's father were parked at the
airport, their necks stretched skyward, watching the darkening, clouded
skies for the first hint of a green monoplane. No green monoplane did
they see. A few drops of rain splattered down, then a few more, and
suddenly the outburst that had been promising for hours poured down.
Bob's father, with the aid of the two boys, put up the windows of the
car, and they sat fairly snug while the rain teemed down about them. The
field was becoming sodden. Crashes of lightning and peals of thunder
seemed to flash and roll all about them. All of the airplanes within
easy distance of their home port had come winging home like birds to an
enormous nest. The three watchers scanned each carefully, but none was
the green Lockheed of Captain Bill.
The time passed slowly. Six-thirty; then seven. Finally Mr. Martin
decided that they could wait no longer. "He's probably landed some place
to wait for the storm to lift," he said. "He can take a taxi over to the
house when he gets in."
Reluctant to leave, the boys nevertheless decided that they really
couldn't wait all night in the storm for Captain Bill, and so they
started for home.
Very wet, and bedraggled, and very, very, hungry, they arrived. Hal's
mother was practically hysterical, met him at the door, and drew him
hastily into the house.
Mr. Martin and his son ran swiftly from the garage to the back door of
their house, but were soaked before they got in. Entering the darkened
kitchen, they could hear voices inside.
"Doesn't that sound like--why, it is--that's Bill's voice," shouted Bob.
The light switched on, and Bill and Mrs. Martin came into the kitchen to
greet their prodigal relatives.
"Hello," said Bill, "where have you people been? You seem to be wet.
Shake on it."
"Well, how in the--how did you get in?" shouted Mr. Martin, pumping
Bill's hand. "We were waiting in the rain for you for hours."
"I know," said Bill, contritely, "we tried to get in touch with you, but
we couldn't. You see, I came in by train."
"By train!" exclaimed Bob. "By train!"
"Why, sure," laughed the Captain, "Why, aren't you glad to see me
without my plane? That's a fine nephewly greeting!"
"Oh, gee, Bill, of course I'm glad to see you, but--well, I've sort of
been counting on your bringing your plane."
Bill laughed. "The plane's coming all right," he said. "We had a little
accident the other day, and the wing needed repairing. I decided not to
wait for it, but to come in on the train to be with you. So Pat
McDermott is bringing the plane in in a few days. Is that all right? May
I stay?"
"Yup, you can stay," said Bob. "But I want something to eat!"
"Everything's ready," said Mrs. Martin. "You change your clothes, and
come right down to dinner."
"Sure thing," said Bob. But he did not change immediately. He stopped
first to put two crossed flags in the window, which meant to Hal, "Come
right over."