Transcriber’s Note
Obvious typos and punctuation errors corrected, otherwise, variations
in spelling retained.
Italic text is represented by underscores surrounding the _italic
text_.
Bold text is represented by equals signs surrounding the =bold text=.
Small capitals have been converted to ALL CAPS.
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The Flying Girl
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[Illustration: “ORISSA—THE FLYING GIRL.”]
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The Flying Girl
BY
EDITH VAN DYNE
Author of
Aunt Jane’s Nieces, Aunt Jane’s Nieces Abroad, Aunt Jane’s Nieces at
Millville, Aunt Jane’s Nieces at Work, Aunt Jane’s Nieces
in Society, Aunt Jane’s Nieces and Uncle John
Illustrated by Joseph Pierre Nuyttens
[Illustration]
Publishers
The Reilly & Britton Co.
Chicago
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Copyright 1911
by
The Reilly & Britton Co.
_The Flying Girl_
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I ORISSA 13
II A DISCIPLE OF AVIATION 20
III THE KANE AIRCRAFT 32
IV MR. BURTHON IS CONFIDENTIAL 38
V BETWEEN MAN AND MAN—AND A GIRL 47
VI A BUCKING BIPLANE 55
VII SOMETHING WRONG 62
VIII MR. BURTHON’S PROPOSITION 71
IX THE OTHER FELLOW 78
X A FRESH START 83
XI ORISSA RESIGNS 89
XII THE SPYING OF TOT TYLER 96
XIII SYBIL IS CRITICAL 105
XIV THE FLYING FEVER 113
XV A FINAL TEST 122
XVI THE OPENING GUN 132
XVII A CURIOUS ACCIDENT 139
XVIII THE ONE TO BLAME 144
XIX PLANNING THE CAMPAIGN 155
XX UNCLE AND NIECE 164
XXI MR. H. CHESTERTON RADLEY-TODD 174
XXII THE FLYING GIRL 184
XXIII A BATTLE IN THE AIR 192
XXIV THE CRIMINAL 202
XXV THE REAL HEROINE 215
XXVI OF COURSE 222
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
“Orissa—The Flying Girl” _Frontispiece_
Orissa stood with hands clasped 64
“It—interests me” 124
The rescue 197
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FOREWORD
The author wishes to acknowledge her indebtedness to Mr. Glenn H.
Curtiss and Mr. Wilbur Wright for courtesies extended during the
preparation of this manuscript. These skillful and clever aviators,
pioneers to whom the Art of Flying owes a colossal debt, do not laugh at
any suggestion concerning the future of the aëroplane, for they
recognize the fact that the discoveries and inventions of the next year
may surpass all that have gone before. The world is agog with wonder at
what has been accomplished; even now it is anticipating the time when
vehicles of the air will be more numerous than are automobiles to-day.
The American youth has been no more interested in the development of the
science of aviation than the American girl; she is in evidence at every
meet where aëroplanes congregate, and already recognizes her competence
to operate successfully any aircraft that a man can manage. So the story
of Orissa Kane’s feats has little exaggeration except in actual
accomplishment, and it is possible her ventures may be emulated even
before this book is out of press. There are twenty women aviators in
Europe; in America are thousands of girls ambitious to become aviators.
An apology may be due those gentlemen who performed so many brilliant
feats at the 1911 meet at Dominguez, for having thrust them somewhat
into the shade to allow the story to exalt its heroine; but they will
understand the exigencies that required this seeming discourtesy and
will, the author is sure, generously pardon her.
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The Flying Girl
CHAPTER I
ORISSA
“May I go now, Mr. Burthon?” asked Orissa.
He looked up from his desk, stared a moment and nodded. It is doubtful
if he saw the girl, for his eyes had an introspective expression.
Orissa went to a cabinet wardrobe and took down her coat and hat.
Turning around to put them on she moved a chair, which squeaked on the
polished floor. The sound made Mr. Burthon shudder, and aroused him as
her speech had not done.
“Why, Miss Kane!” he exclaimed, regarding her with surprise, “it is only
four o’clock.”
“I know, sir,” said Orissa uneasily, “but the mail is ready and all the
deeds and transfers have been made out for you to sign. I—I wanted an
extra hour, to-night, so I worked during lunch time.”
“Oh; very well,” he said, stiffly. “But I do not approve this
irregularity, Miss Kane, and you may as well understand it. I engage
your services by the week, and expect you to keep regular hours.”
“I won’t go, then,” she replied, turning to hang up her coat.
“Yes, you will. For this afternoon I excuse you,” he said, turning again
to his papers.
Orissa did not wish to offend her employer. Indeed, she could not afford
to. This was her first position, and because she was young and girlish
in appearance she had found it difficult to secure a place. Perhaps it
was because she had applied to Mr. Burthon during one of his fits of
abstraction that she obtained the position at all; but she was competent
to do her work and performed it so much better than any “secretary” the
real estate agent had before had that he would have been as loth to lose
her as she was to be dismissed. But Orissa did not know that, and
hesitated what to do.
“Run along, Miss Kane,” said her employer, impatiently; “I insist upon
it—for to-night.”
So, being very anxious to get home early, the girl accepted the
permission and left the office, feeling however a little guilty for
having abridged her time there.
She had a long ride before her. Leaving the office at four o’clock meant
reaching home forty minutes later; so she hurried across the street and
boarded a car marked “Beverly.” Los Angeles is a big city, because it is
spread from the Pacific Ocean to the mountains—an extreme distance of
more than thirty miles. Yet it is of larger extent than that would
indicate, as country villages for many miles in every direction are
really suburbs of the metropolis of Southern California and the
inhabitants ride daily into the city for business or shopping.
It was toward one of these outlying districts that Orissa Kane was now
bound. They have rapid transit in the Southwest, and the car, headed
toward the north but ultimately destined to reach the sea by way of
several villages, fairly flew along the tracks. It was August and a
glaring sun held possession of a cloudless sky; but the ocean breeze,
which always arrives punctually the middle of the afternoon, rendered
the air balmy and invigorating.
It was seldom that this young girl appeared anywhere in public without
attracting the attention of any who chanced to glance into her sweet
face. Its contour was almost perfect and the coloring exquisite. In
addition she had a slender form which she carried with exceeding grace
and a modest, winning demeanor that was more demure and unconscious than
shy.
Such a charming personality should have been clothed in handsome
raiment; but, alas, poor Orissa’s gown was the simplest of cheap lawns,
and of the ready-made variety the department stores sell in their
basements. It was not unbecoming, nor was the coarse straw hat with its
yard of cotton-back ribbon; yet the case was stated to-day very
succinctly by a middle-aged gentleman who sat with his wife in the car
seat just behind Orissa:
“If that girl was our daughter,” said he, “I’d dress her nicely if it
took half my income to do it. Great Cæsar! hasn’t she anyone to love
her, or care for her? She seems to me like a beautiful piece of
bric-a-brac; something to set on a pedestal and deck with jewels and
laces, for all to admire.”
“Pshaw!” returned the lady; “a girl like that will be admired, whatever
she wears.”
Orissa had plenty of love, bestowed by those nearest and dearest to her,
but circumstances had reduced the family fortunes to a minimum and the
girl was herself to blame for a share of the poverty the Kanes now
endured.
The car let her off at a wayside station between two villages. It was in
a depression that might properly be termed a valley, though of small
extent, and as the car rushed on and left her standing beside a group of
tall palms it at first appeared there were no houses at all in the
neighborhood.
But that was not so; a well defined path led into a thicket of
evergreens and then wound through a large orange orchard. Beyond this
was a vine covered bungalow of the type so universal in California;
artistic to view but quite inexpensive in construction.
High hedges of privet surrounded the place, but above this, in the space
back of the house, rose the canvas covered top of a huge shed—something
so unusual and inappropriate in a place of this character that it would
have caused a stranger to pause and gape with astonishment.
Orissa, however, merely glanced at the tent-like structure as she
hurried along the path. She turned in at the open door of the bungalow,
tossed hat and jacket into a chair and then went to where a sweet-faced
woman sat in a morris chair knitting. In a moment you would guess she
was Orissa’s mother, for although the features were worn and thin there
was a striking resemblance between them and those of the fresh young
girl stooping to kiss her. Mrs. Kane’s eyes were the same turquoise blue
as her daughter’s; but, although bright and wide open they lacked any
expression, for they saw nothing at all in our big, beautiful world.
“Aren’t you early, dear?” she asked.
“A whole hour,” said Orissa. “But I promised Steve I’d try to get home
at this time, for he wants me to help him. Can I do anything for you
first, mamma?”
“No,” was the reply; “I am quite comfortable. Run along, if Steve wants
you.” Then she added, in a playful tone: “Will there be any supper
to-night?”
“Oh, yes, indeed! I’ll break away in good season, never fear. Last night
I got into the crush of the ‘rush hour,’ and the car was detained, so
both Steve and I forgot all about supper. I’ll run and change my dress
now.”
“I’m afraid the boy is working too hard,” said Mrs. Kane, sighing. “The
days are not half long enough for him, and he keeps in his workshop, or
hangar, or whatever you call it, half the night.”
“True,” returned Orissa, with a laugh; “but it is not work for Steve,
you know; it’s play. He’s like a child with a new toy.”
“I hope it will not prove a toy, in the end,” remarked Mrs. Kane,
gravely. “So much depends upon his success.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” said the girl, brightly. “Steve is making our
fortune, I’m sure.”
But as she discarded the lawn for a dark gingham in her little chamber,
Orissa’s face was more serious than her words and she wondered—as she
had wondered hundreds of times—whether her brother’s great venture would
bring them ruin or fortune.
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