A DISASTROUS FLIGHT
“Hold on there! Hold on!” cried the fat man, as Noddy was about to pull
some levers, which, presumably, set the gears in mesh and would make
the big tin wings flap, though they were motionless now.
“What’s the matter?” asked Noddy angrily, looking up.
“I thought you were going to wager me a hundred dollars that you could
fly in that thing?”
“So I am.”
“Well, why don’t you put up the money? Mine’s up.”
“I guess I’m good for it,” murmured Noddy. “The bet stands. Look out,
there, I’m going to make a start now! Clear the way! Look out! Look out
everybody!”
He turned a little more gasolene into the motor, and the apparatus
banged away louder than ever. The whole machine vibrated.
But something seemed to be the matter. Noddy, who had taken his seat
in the small car attached to the machine, was vainly pulling on levers
and twisting wheels.
“Something’s stuck,” he said.
“You’re stuck,” replied the fat man. “You’re stuck for a hundred
dollars; that’s who’s stuck.”
“Oh, let up!” exclaimed Noddy as the fat man began to laugh. “Just you
wait!”
“We are waiting,” cried several in the crowd. “Let her go, Professor
Nixon.”
“Bring us down one of those clouds,” suggested another.
“Yes, and a little cooler atmosphere from above,” added a third waggish
one.
Noddy was red in the face from his exertions in yanking on various
levers. He could not seem to get the motor in gear, though the machine
was working away at a fast rate. Finally Noddy called to one of his
helpers. The man, who was evidently a machinist, soon located the
trouble.
“I told you to pull out that catch before you tried to work the
starting lever,” he said.
“Guess he doesn’t know much about the machine,” was the fat man’s
comment.
“I know more than you, and I’ll show you so in a minute, too,” declared
Noddy savagely.
He pulled on a lever with all his force. There was a grinding of
cog-wheels, a sort of cough and wheeze from the motor as it took up the
load, and then the big wings began to vibrate slowly up and down.
“There she goes!” cried the crowd in some enthusiasm. “Hurrah! He’s
off!”
“Well, the wings move, that’s sure,” admitted Jerry to his chums, “but
it’s another thing to rise in the air.”
Noddy, however, had not yet turned on full power. He did so a moment
later, and the motor seemed to redouble the explosions, which, not
being muffled, made a terrific din. The wings went up and down faster
than ever, so rapidly, in fact, that they looked only like a bright
blur.
Then Noddy pulled a rope, which shifted a sort of box-kite arrangement
that was mounted on supports above the wings, and, to the surprise of
the motor boys and the others in the crowd, the clumsy-looking tin
fly began to move forward, slowly at first, but, gathering speed, it
skimmed over the ground, moving along on the wheels of the platform on
which it rested.
“There he goes! There he goes!” cried the throng. “He’s going to fly!”
“Not yet, but soon, maybe,” murmured Ned. “Come on, fellows, let’s run
after him.”
They hastened forward, following the crowd which was all about the
curious machine.
“Keep back! Give me room! Don’t get in the way! Some one may get hurt!
Stand back! Keep back!” yelled Noddy, who was much excited.
He turned on more gasolene. The motor was now working so fast that
the whole machine seemed ready to fly apart with the violence of the
explosions and the vibrations of the tin wings.
“Here I go!” yelled Noddy.
“I thought you’d gone some time ago,” remarked the fat man
sarcastically. He was puffing and wheezing, as he ran to keep up with
the machine. Noddy did not reply. He pulled on another lever, and then
something did happen.
The _Firefly_ lifted itself off the wheeled platform and fairly lurched
forward, rising the least bit into the air, which action was necessary
before it could leave the platform.
“Look out! Look out!” cried many voices, and the crowd in front of the
curious affair ducked and dodged, separating so as to allow a clear
passage for the tin fly.
With the motor firing a regular volley of explosions, and Noddy sitting
desperately in his narrow seat, the _Firefly_ dashed forward. But if
the crowd expected it to sail aloft over their heads they were much
disappointed. It continued to lurch forward, and then, whether Noddy
pulled the wrong lever or cord, or whether it was the nature of the
contrivance, was never clearly established, but it turned squarely
about and started back.
“It’s afraid! It’s scared at the crowd!” yelled the fat man, who seemed
delighted at Noddy’s discomfiture.
“Look out!” shouted the now excited throng, as the people separated to
give the _Firefly_ room to do all the queer stunts it desired.
Noddy was now holding on to the framework about him. He seemed to have
given up trying to guide the airship, which was more of a “ground
ship,” for it was now resting upon the earth, and hopping forward, by
uncertain jerks, like a tired frog.
“Go up! Go up! Why don’t you go up?” panted the fleshy one. “I’m going
to win my hundred dollars.”
Noddy reached forward to pull another lever. As he did so the _Firefly_
swerved to one side, narrowly missing knocking over several persons who
had approached too close. Then it swung back again, and next began to
hop over the ground in real earnest, the flapping of the broad wings,
every time they went up and down, serving to lift it with jerks. But
as for flying, one might as well expect a man to lift himself by his
own boot-straps.
Straight ahead flopped the _Firefly_, right toward a candy and lemonade
stand, which the proprietor had piled high with good things, in
anticipation of a brisk trade. The tin wings beat the air, the motor
exploded loudly, and the whole affair swayed and trembled.
“Get a balloon!” yelled some one in the crowd.
The owner of the stand, who had been too busy fixing up his place to
pay much attention to the airship trials, now looked up. He saw coming
toward him the tin fly, and he realized his danger and the danger to
his stand.
“Here! Here!” he yelled. “Hold on! Stop her! You’ll run into me! Stop
it, I say!”
“Move your stand! This is the _Firefly_ limited, and it mustn’t get off
the track,” said the fat man with a laugh.
Noddy was doing his best to stop the motor, but either he did not pull
the right lever, or else the machine had become jammed and could not be
stopped. It seemed bent on destroying the stand.
“Jump! jump!” cried several to Noddy, as they saw that he was in
danger. He stood up, but his legs became tangled in some things in
the bottom of the car, and he could not extricate himself.
“I--I can’t jump!” he shouted back.
“Shut off the motor!” yelled his machinist, pushing his way through the
crowd.
“I can’t do that either. Something’s the matter with it! It won’t stop!”
The _Firefly_ was approaching nearer and nearer to the lemonade stand.
The proprietor was frantically jumping up and down in front of his
possessions, as if he could thus ward off the attack of the airship.
“Stop! Stop, I tell you!” he shouted, shaking his fist at the _Firefly_,
which every second was coming nearer.
“Look out!” yelled the crowd. “She’s going to hit!”
And hit she did a moment later. At the last moment Noddy managed to
leap, and he did so only just in time, for there was a resounding
crash, a rending and splintering of wood. The lemonade and candy stand
seemed to crumple up. One side gave way to admit the pointed prow of
the _Firefly_, then the stand seemed to swallow up the airship.
[Illustration: “THERE WAS A RESOUNDING CRASH!”]
All at once there flew in all directions packages of candy, popcorn
and boxes of other confections. One pail of pink lemonade was tossed
high into the air, and, turning over, poured out a crimson flood, which
sprinkled the bystanders. Bottles of root-beer and ginger ale mingled
with sarsparilla in forming a shower of cooling drinks. There was a
hail of peanuts.
The big tin wings, hampered in their movements by the wreck of the
stand, came to a stop. But the motor went on. It was now running at
full speed, free, and its momentum was terrific. There came several
explosions, louder than any that had preceded.
“Look out! She’s going to blow up! The gasolene tank will explode!”
cried the fat man.
The crowd, which had gathered about the wreck, scattered on the run.
Once more came a loud explosion.
“There she goes!” yelled several.
But there followed only a whistle, a wheeze, and a sort of apologetic
cough from the motor. Then, with a gentle sigh, the overworked machine
“went dead” and stopped. But oh what a scene of wreck, ruin and
desolation!