NODDY IN A ROW
Following the noise of the swiftly-running motor, the shouts of the
crowd and the crash as the lemonade stand was demolished, there came a
period of silence. No one seemed to know what to do or say.
Jerry and his chums watched Noddy pick himself up from a pile of soft
dirt, where he had leaped just before his tin fly crashed into the
stand. The bully was a sorry-looking sight, his clothes being thickly
encrusted with soil, and his hands and face grimy. He staggered forward
and gazed at the wreck.
“Well, it didn’t fly, and I knew it wouldn’t,” observed the fat man. “I
told you it was too heavy.”
“Don’t--don’t speak to me!” exclaimed Noddy wrathfully.
“Don’t speak to you! Well, I like that! I guess I will speak to you
long enough to ask you for my hundred dollars. I won it on a fair
wager, and I want it. Here,” he said to the man who had held his share
of the bet, “give me my money. I’m entitled to his, ain’t I?”
“You sure are,” said several in the crowd who had heard the bargain
Noddy had made.
“I wish I’d made him put his money up,” went on the fat man. “Come on
now, Professor Nixon, or whatever your name is, fork over that hundred
dollars. It will come in handy for me. That thing fly! It’ll never fly
in a hundred years!” and he began to laugh, which further nettled Noddy.
“I’ll make it fly yet!” said the bully, gritting his teeth. “Something
went wrong with the machinery.”
“I should say it did,” went on the fat man.
“It’ll need a lot of repairs before it will flop its wings again,”
observed Andy Rush, who was in the front rank of spectators. Noddy
heard him, and turned savagely on the little chap.
“You mind your own business!” he exploded. “If I catch you around my
machine I’ll have you arrested. I believe you sneaked in and monkeyed
with it so I couldn’t fly. I’ve a good notion to punch your head.”
“Better not try it,” advised Jerry quietly. “And you have no right to
say Andy did anything to your machine. He was nowhere near it, except
when we were with him.”
“Well, maybe you had a hand in it,” murmured Noddy. “You’re jealous of
me, that’s what you are.”
“Here, you drop that kind of talk!” exclaimed Jerry, striding forward.
“We know you, Noddy Nixon, and we know your crony, Bill Berry. If you
don’t keep a civil tongue in your head we’ll see that you’re put out
of this carnival. We never touched your crazy tin fly, and we’re not
jealous of you. If we couldn’t get up a better airship than that we
wouldn’t have any.”
“That ship is all right. All it needs is a little fixing,” went on
Noddy, taking care to keep well away from Jerry.
“Who owns this thing?” suddenly asked the stand owner, as he came from
a silent contemplation of the wreck and ruin and approached the crowd.
“He does!” exclaimed half a dozen persons, pointing at Noddy.
“You did that on purpose! You know you did! I saw you steering straight
for my stand,” cried the man. “I want damages now--heavy damages!
Everything is spoiled, and it cost me fifteen dollars to build the
stand, besides all the things I had. I must have damages.”
“Oh, dry up!” retorted Noddy, who had had about all he could stand in
the way of misfortune.
“‘Dry up,’ eh? I’ll show you!” cried the man. “Are you going to pay me
for my things?”
“It was an accident. I couldn’t help it.”
“What difference does that make to me? That won’t bring back my
lemonade. That won’t wrap up the popcorn in packages again. That won’t
mend the broken bottles of ginger ale. I want damages, and I’m going to
have ’em.”
The man was so insistent, and stood close to Noddy in such a threatening
manner, that the bully was alarmed. He shrank back.
“It was an accident,” he repeated. “I couldn’t help it. Something went
wrong with the engine. I’m--I’m sorry.”
“A heap of good that does me!” cried the angry stand owner. “I want my
things, or I want pay for ’em. I must have fifty dollars, or I’ll have
you arrested for malicious mischief. I saw you steer your crazy machine
right my way. You could easily have flown above me, instead of landing
in my stand.”
“He couldn’t fly--that was the trouble,” said the fat man, chuckling.
“He couldn’t fly. I guess we’ll call what’s left of his machine the
‘flyless-fly,’ instead of the _Firefly_. Ha, ha! Ho, ho!”
“I’ll--I’ll----” spluttered Noddy, but he did not know what to say.
“Well, are you going to pay me damages?” demanded the stand owner. “I
want fifty dollars.”
“I--I haven’t any money here,” said Noddy.
“You haven’t any money? And yet you made a wager with me for one
hundred dollars!” cried the fleshy individual. “I like your nerve! How
were you going to pay me, I’d like to know?”
“I didn’t think I’d lose,” explained Noddy. “I thought I’d fly.”
“And where is my fifty dollars coming from?” again demanded the stand
owner. “I want it and I’m going to have it. Here the carnival has
opened, and I can’t do any business until I get a new stand. I ought to
soak you a hundred dollars.”
“That’s right! Make him pay!” cried the throng.
“Look here!” exclaimed Noddy angrily, “I haven’t any money, and I can’t
pay.”
“Then you had no right to make a wager with me,” said the fat man. “I
put up my money, and you said you’d put up yours.”
“I want my fifty dollars!” was the burden of the cry set up by the
stand owner. “You’re a nice one, to go smashing people’s property, and
then not pay! If it had been an automobile man he’d pay me right off,
but you airship fellers ain’t no good.”
“Oh, let me alone!” cried Noddy. “If any one bothers me any more I’ll
punch his head. Let me get my machine out of that stand.”
“Not until you pay me my fifty dollars,” insisted the lemonade man.
“And I ought to hold at least one wing as security until I get my
hundred,” put in the fat man.
Noddy was beside himself with rage. He looked as if he wanted to fight
the whole crowd. There was a movement on one edge of the throng, and a
man pushed his way through.
“What’s the matter, Noddy?” he asked quietly.
“It’s Mr. Nixon, Noddy’s father,” exclaimed Jerry.
“Oh, I--I had a little accident,” explained Noddy to his parent, who
had just arrived on the grounds, expecting to see his son sailing about
in an airship, for Noddy had boasted much of his _Firefly_.
“An accident? I should say you did,” remarked Mr. Nixon, who, though he
usually took the part of his bullying son, could at least see such an
obvious happening as was spread all about.
“Yes, he busted my stand all to pieces, and I want damages,” said the
owner, seeing a possible chance for reimbursement.
“And I’d like the hundred dollars I won from him,” added the stout man.
“That’s right,” chorused the crowd, as Mr. Nixon looked at his son for
confirmation of these charges. “He made the bet and he smashed the
stand.”
“Hum!” murmured Mr. Nixon. “Very well, I will settle for him. Where is
your tent, Noddy?”
The owner of the wrecked _Firefly_ pointed to the canvas structure.
“Come over there,” went on Mr. Nixon to the fat man and the stand
owner, “and I will pay you. Come, Noddy.”
“But--but my airship?”
“Let it go. It’s only junk now. You can take the engine out later, and
throw the rest on the scrap pile.”
Mr. Nixon led his son away, and the crowd dispersed, for it wanted to
see the other sights. Thus ended Noddy’s first attempt to navigate the
air. The accident was destined to have an effect on the future of the
motor boys, as you shall see.