A MIDNIGHT ALARM
“Why, hello, Hiram Dobbs!”
The young sub-pilot of the _Comet_ turned quickly at the hail. It was
half an hour after the arrival at the Chicago aero grounds. Hiram felt
pretty important over the royal reception his comrades and himself had
received from the aviation officials. Never too proud to greet a friend
of humbler pretensions, however, he turned with his usual broad smile of
good nature. Then he shot out his hand heartily.
A pale, thin lad, somewhat poorly dressed, had accosted him. Pleased and
eager, he clasped the hand Hiram extended.
“Well,” exclaimed the latter, “if it isn’t Will Mason! How in the world
do you come to be here?”
“You,” answered the lad promptly—“you’re to blame for my getting a
splendid outdoor job, fine pay and jolly good people to work for,” and
the speaker’s eyes twinkled.
“Let’s see,” said Hiram, ruminating. “It was at Columbus I met you;
wasn’t it?”
“Yes, too sick to keep drudging my life away in the poison air of the
zinc works,” nodded Will. “The doctor said I’d last a month longer,
maybe. But there was mother, and I had to stick at my post till you
kindly interested yourself in me.”
“And Dave Dashaway did the rest by getting you placed with the Chicago
crowd; eh?” added Hiram. “It worked out? Good!”
“It worked out because you started the machinery,” declared the grateful
Will. “Oh, it’s fine, Mr. Dobbs.”
“Hey! what? Wow! O-oh, my!” and, forgetting all dignity, Hiram fell
against a hangar rope and almost roared. “‘Mister!’” he gasped. “First
time in my life I was called that. It will be ‘Professor’ next. Oh, but
I’m getting on in the world. I suppose it may come to ‘Sir Hiram Dobbs,’
unless we fall down somewhere along the line. Then it will be back to
plain Hiram, or just ‘Hi.’ I’m Hiram to my friends, though, always; so
call me that and I’ll think you are really a friend.”
Will Mason was bubbling over with delight at his vastly improved
condition and heartfelt gratitude towards the true friends who had
helped him attain it. He was full of the subject and Hiram had to listen
to the details.
Will told how he had a position clear up to the end of the year and a
dozen prospects for the next season.
“It’s only helping around the hangars for the present,” he explained;
“but Mr. King sent word that as soon as he gets well he will give me a
regular place among his assistants. I’ve been able to send quite a bit
of money to mother. This week there are some amateur airmen here who
want special care for their machines, and I’m making a heap of extras.”
“Grand!” commended Hiram. “You’ll make it. You’re the kind that will.”
“And I feel so much better in health,” added Will. “I’ve gained ten
pounds, and I feel just like a bird let out of its cage. That’s your
machine over yonder; isn’t it?” asked Will, indicating the _Comet_,
which was surrounded by interested investigating airmen.
“That’s the winner of the international race around the world, yes,”
proclaimed Hiram grandly.
“She looks it,” enthused Will. “I wanted to ask you about the biplane.
You’re going to stay here till morning, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I guess that is the programme,” replied Hiram.
“Then you want to house the machine. I heard that some one stole the
_Comet_. It was talked around here that some wanted to put the _Comet_
out of the race because of her good chances.”
“Oh, is that so?” remarked Hiram.
“So, if you want the machine well taken care of,” proceeded Will, “give
me the pleasure of doing it. You see that hangar over yonder—the one
built of light cement blocks? It’s a remodeled storehouse. Belongs to
Mr. Givins, a rich amateur. I take care of his machine when it’s here.
He took a run up to Milwaukee this morning, and won’t be back until
to-morrow, he said. There isn’t a safer, cleaner, more roomy place on
the grounds. You see the windows are barred and there is a great big
lock on the doors.”
“Why, say, that’s just famous,” said Hiram. “Dave will be glad to know
of such good accommodations as you offer, Will.”
“Besides,” continued the hangar lad, “I’ll sleep in the place all night.
Nobody will run away with the _Comet_ while I am on watch.”
“I believe you,” cried Hiram buoyantly. “Come on, I want you to meet
Dave. He will be mighty glad to see you.”
Number eight of the contestant group came in at dusk. Number eleven, a
high power machine, reported an hour later. A wire had come from
Pittsburgh announcing the smash—up of number five, nobody hurt, but
machine totally disabled and permanently out of commission.
The young pilot of the _Comet_ had some very pleasant words for Will
Mason. The offer of the hangar lad to take charge of the _Comet_ for the
night was entirely satisfactory. The local airmen vied in showing
attention to their guests, and the eight hours stop was an enlivening
break in the long expedition before them.
“What’s that you’ve got in that box, Hiram?” asked our hero, as they
left the association building.
“Some of those fine dainties they set before us at that reception
lunch,” reported Hiram. “I tipped the waiter to put it up for me. For
Will Mason, you see.”
“That’s good,” commended Dave, “Will is a fine-going fellow.”
“Yes, and proud as can be to think you’ll trust him to keep any
stragglers away from the _Comet_.”
The boys decided to look in on the machine before returning. A knock at
the door of the hangar brought a sharp mandatory challenge from the
vigilant guardian inside.
“Who is there?” demanded Will, approaching the portal.
“Midnight lunch for the watchman!” cried Hiram, in a jolly tone.
“Enter midnight lunch,” ordered Will, unlocking and swinging open the
door.
“You are pretty fine and cozy here,” remarked Dave.
A lantern burned on a shelf. Will had made a comfortable bed on a tilted
board. He smacked his lips as Hiram disclosed the contents of the box.
“Why, it is a regular banquet,” declared the pleased lad. “What with
that and my reading there’s no danger of my going to sleep.”
Hiram picked up a book lying on the shelf and read its title.
“H’m,” he remarked, “‘Advanced Aeronautics—1850.’ Say, this must seem
queer along with the flying machines of to-day.”
“It’s almost funny in places,” explained Will. “I wonder what those old
fellows with their big awkward gas bags would think of the nifty machine
here, and a trip around the world in it, easy as a Pullman sleeper.”
“We don’t know that yet,” observed Dave. “There are probably some very
unusual experiences ahead of us.”
“Oh, well, we’ll take it as it comes, a section at a time,” said Hiram.
“With Dave Dashaway at the helm, we simply can’t fail.”
They were a sanguine, light-hearted group. The crew of the _Comet_
chatted in a friendly way with Will for a few minutes. Then the trio
repaired to a little hotel just outside the grounds. The association had
made arrangements for them there. The young airman left word to be
called at daylight and the comrades were shown to a doubled-bedded room.
“This is pretty fine,” observed Hiram, bunking in with Elmer and
stretching himself luxuriously. “There won’t be a lot more of it for
some time to come, so let’s see who can sleep soundest.”
Our hero was certainly the expert aviator of the group. He did not carry
off the laurels in the slumber field, however. His comrades wrapped in
profound sleep, Dave awoke and with a shock.
It must have been about three o’clock. It seemed to the young airman as
though a cannon had gone off near by. His ears still rang with the
echoes. Dave found the window frames of the room were still rattling.
“Wonder what that was?” he mused. He glanced towards the windows, but
there was no glare of fire. Perfect stillness reigned outside. About to
leave the solution of the question until daybreak, our hero listened
intently as he heard someone in the next room spring from bed, cross the
room hurriedly and apparently pick up a telephone receiver.
“Hello. This the hotel office?” fell upon Dave’s hearing. “All right.
Say, what was that just went off? Wait a minute? All right.”
There was a brief lapse of silence. Then the bell in the next apartment
rang out sharply. A message seemed to come over the wire, the young
airman could catch its crackling echoes.
“What’s that!” exclaimed the man at the ’phone. “Explosion at the aero
grounds? Is that so? Hangar and machine blown to pieces! What was it?
Oh, dynamite! Well! well!”
With a start and a thrill the young aviator sprang out of bed.