A BUCKING BIPLANE
Stephen Kane had scarcely slept a wink for three nights. When Orissa
came home Thursday evening he met her at the car with the news that his
aëroplane was complete.
“I’ve been adjusting it and testing the working parts all the
afternoon,” he said, his voice tense with effort to restrain his
excitement, “and I’m ready for the trial whenever you say.”
“All right, Steve,” she replied briskly; “it begins to be daylight at
about half past four, this time of year; shall we make the trial at that
hour to-morrow morning?”
“I couldn’t wait _longer_ than that,” he admitted, pressing her arm as
they walked along. “My idea is to take it into old Marston’s pasture.”
“Isn’t the bull there?” she inquired.
“Not now. Marston has kept the bull shut up the past few days. And it’s
the best place for the trial, for there’s lots of room.”
“Let’s take a look at it, Steve!” she said, hastening her steps.
In the big, canvas covered shed reposed the aëroplane, its spreading
white sails filling the place almost to the very edges. It was neither a
monoplane nor a biplane, according to accepted ideas of such machines,
but was what Steve called “a story-and-a-half flyer.”
“That is, I hope it’s a flyer,” he amended, while Orissa stared with
admiring eyes, although she already knew every stick and stitch by
heart.
“Of course it’s a flyer!” she exclaimed. “I wouldn’t be afraid to mount
to the moon in that airship.”
“All that witches need is a broomstick,” he said playfully. “But perhaps
you’re not that sort of a witch, little sister.”
“What shall we call it, Steve?” she asked, seriously. “Of course it’s a
biplane, because there are really two planes, one being above the other;
but it is not in the same class with other biplanes. We must have a
distinctive name for it.”
“I’ve thought of calling it the ‘Kane Aircraft,’” he answered. “How does
that strike you?”
“It has an original sound,” Orissa said. “Oh, Steve! couldn’t we try it
to-night? It’s moonlight.”
He shook his head quickly, smiling at her enthusiasm.
“I’m afraid not. You’re tired, and have the dinner to get and the day’s
dishes to wash and put away. As for me, I’m so dead for sleep I can
hardly keep my eyes open. I must rest, so as to have a clear head for
to-morrow’s flight.”
“Shall we say anything to mother about it?”
“Why need we? It would only worry the dear woman unnecessarily. Whether
I succeed or fail in this trial, it will be time enough to break the
news to her afterward.”
Orissa agreed with this. Mrs. Kane knew the airship was nearing
completion but was not especially interested in the venture. It seemed
wonderful to her that mankind had at last learned how to fly, and still
more wonderful that her own son was inventing and building an improved
appliance for this purpose; but so many marvelous things had happened
since she became blind that her mind was to an extent inured to
astonishment and she had learned to accept with calm complacency
anything she could not comprehend.
Brother and sister at last tore themselves away from the fascinating
creation and returned to the house, where Steve, thoroughly exhausted,
fell asleep in his chair while Orissa was preparing dinner. He went to
bed almost immediately after he had eaten and his sister also retired
when her mother did, which was at an early hour.
But Orissa could not sleep. She lay and dreamed of the great triumph
before them; of the plaudits of enraptured spectators; of Stephen’s name
on every tongue in the civilized world; and, not least by any means, of
the money that would come to them. No longer would the Kanes have to
worry over debts and duebills; the good things of the world would be
theirs, all won by her brother’s cleverness.
If she slept at all before the gray dawn stole into the sky the girl was
not aware of it. By half past four she had smoking hot coffee ready for
Steve and herself and after hastily drinking it they rushed to the
hangar.
Steve was bright and alert this morning and declared he had “slept like
a log.” He slid the curtains away from the front of the shed and
solemnly the boy and girl wheeled the big aëroplane out into the garden.
By careful manipulation they steered it between the trees and away to
the fence of Marston’s pasture, which adjoined their own premises at the
rear. To get it past the fence had been Steve’s problem, and he had
arranged to take out a section of the fencing big enough to admit his
machine. This was now but a few minutes’ work, and presently the
aëroplane was on the smooth turf of the pasture.
They were all alone. There were no near neighbors, and it was early for
any to be astir.
“One of the most important improvements I have made is my starting
device,” said Steve, as he began a last careful examination of his
aircraft. “All others have a lot of trouble in getting started. The
Wright people erect a tower and windlass, and nearly every other machine
uses a track.”
“I know,” replied Orissa. “I have seen several men holding the thing
back until the motors got well started and the propellers were whirling
at full speed.”
“That always struck me as a crude arrangement,” observed her brother.
“Now, in this machine I start the motor whirling an eccentric of the
same resisting power as the propeller, yet it doesn’t affect the
stability of the aëroplane. When I’m ready to start I throw in a clutch
that instantly transfers the power from the eccentric to the
propeller—and away I go like a rocket.”
As he spoke he kissed his sister and climbed to the seat.
“Are you afraid, Steve?” she whispered, her beautiful face flushed and
her eyes bright with excitement.
“Afraid! Of my own machine? Of course not.”
“Don’t go very high, dear.”
“We’ll see. I want to give it a thorough test. All right, Ris; I’m off!”
The motors whirred, steadily accelerating speed while the aëroplane
trembled as if eager to dart away. Steve threw in the clutch; the
machine leaped forward and ran on its wheels across the pasture like a
deer, but did not rise.
He managed to stop at the opposite fence and when Orissa came running
up, panting, her brother sat in his place staring stupidly ahead.
“What’s wrong, Steve?”
He rubbed his head and woke up.
“The forward elevator, I guess. But I’m sure I had it adjusted
properly.”
He got down and examined the rudder, giving it another upward tilt.
“Now I’ll try again,” he said cheerfully.
They turned the aircraft around and he made another start. This time
Orissa was really terrified, for the thing acted just like a bucking
broncho. It rose to a height of six feet, dove to the ground, rose again
to plunge its nose into the turf and performed such absurd, unexpected
antics that Steve had to cling on for dear life. When he finally managed
to bring it to a halt the rudder was smashed and two ribs of the lower
plane splintered.
They looked at the invention with dismay, both silent for a time.
“Of course,” said Steve, struggling to restrain his disappointment, “we
couldn’t expect it to be perfect at the first trial.”
“No,” agreed Orissa, faintly.
“But it ought to fly, you know.”
“Being a flying machine, it ought to,” she said. “Can you mend it,
Steve?”
“To be sure; but it will take me a little time. To-morrow morning we
will try again.”
With grave faces they wheeled it back into the garden and the boy
replaced the fence. Then back to the hangar, where Steve put the Kane
Aircraft in its old place and drew the curtains—much as one does at a
funeral.
“I’m sure to discover what’s wrong,” he told Orissa, regaining courage
as they walked toward the house. “And, if I’ve made a blunder, this is
the time to rectify it. To-morrow it will be sure to fly. Have faith in
me, Ris.”
“I have,” she replied simply. “I’ll go in and get breakfast now.”
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