NODDY GETS HIS DESERTS
Swift as the _Comet_ shot from the earth, with that same curious
sensation to those aboard of her that it was the ground dropping away,
her speed was not so fast but that something which happened almost
directly beneath it was seen by the motor boys. This was the sight
of Noddy Nixon stepping forth from behind the corner of the tent and
aiming a gun at the motor ship.
“He’s shooting at us!” cried Bob, leaning out from the cabin window and
gazing down.
A second later the spiteful “zip” of a leaden missile could be heard,
as it shot past the car, narrowly missing the gas bag.
“He almost hit us!” cried Ned.
“That will be his last shot,” said Jerry quietly.
“How do you know?” called back Mr. Glassford from the steering tower.
Though it was some distance away, it was so quiet in the upper air that
even a whisper could be heard the whole length of the ship.
“Because I arranged to have him taken care of,” replied Jerry. “There!
he’s under arrest now.”
As the travelers leaned over the edge of the car they saw a man rush
out from the crowd and grab Noddy before he had time to fire again. The
man caught the gun from the bully’s hand and threw it far away. Then,
with a firm hold on Noddy’s collar, which he maintained in spite of the
efforts of that youth to break away, the sneak who hoped to damage the
airship was led away.
“That settles his hash,” remarked Jerry. “He’ll go to jail for a few
weeks, at least.”
“How did you manage it?” asked Ned.
“Well, when you saw him in the city yesterday I had a notion that he’d
be up to something like this. I decided to take some precautions, so
I spoke to the hotel detective. He arranged to have a private officer
out on the grounds near our tent. He had a description of Noddy, and
was instructed to arrest him if he saw him shooting at our gas bag. I
didn’t think Noddy would dare do it, but you see he did. Fortunately,
the detective grabbed him before he could fire a second shot, or he
might have damaged our ship considerably.”
“It was a dastardly trick,” commented Mr. Glassford, “and I am glad you
got ahead of him, Jerry. I hope Noddy will get his deserts now. Of
course, our gas bag is in sections, and even if one was punctured we
would still be able to manage, but I want all the power possible this
trip, as I think we are going to have a close contest.”
“Which machine do you fear the most?” asked Bob.
“That big red one. Its bag contains more gas than ours does, but I
believe we have the more powerful airship. Well, I think we are now
high enough to start the motor.”
None of the ships had their propellers going as yet, since those in
charge of them wished to attain a certain height and get in a favorable
air current before moving forward.
No sooner, however, did Mr. Glassford start his motor than explosions
began to sound from the other five craft. The big propellers of the
_Comet_ began to revolve, and the ship, feeling the influence of them,
darted forward.
The conditions of the race were that the ships were to head, as nearly
as possible, toward New Orleans. This was almost directly south of the
place from where they had started. Of course, it was not expected that
they would all reach the city of molasses fame, but that point was set
at the farthest limit to which it was thought any machine would get.
In the steering tower Mr. Glassford listened with a critical ear to the
song of the motor and other machinery of his craft.
“She’s working like a daisy,” he said enthusiastically. “If nothing
happens, boys, we’ll win one prize, anyhow.”
It was a wonderful sight to see the great airships--six of them--high
in the air, all headed in one direction. They looked like great birds,
especially the _Comet_, with its broad white aeroplanes. Her pointed
nose was headed almost south, as indicated by the compass, and Mr.
Glassford, as engineer, gradually increased the speed of the motor.
At first the six ships were about on a line, moving forward together,
and at about the same height. Then the big red one shot ahead, taking a
place in the lead.
“Don’t let her beat us,” begged Bob.
“Don’t worry,” advised Mr. Glassford. “The race has only started. I can
catch up if I want to. But I’m going a little higher. I think I can get
into a swifter current of air.”
He shifted the elevation rudder and the _Comet_ darted toward the sky.
One of the other ships started to follow, and then, whether the pilot
changed his mind or whether he could not manage his craft, it had to
drop back on a level with the other four.
Mr. Glassford’s plan to go higher was soon demonstrated to be a good
one. Without increasing the speed of the motor he slowly began to
overhaul the red ship, as the _Comet_ was in a swifter air current.
In the upper regions there are as many currents as there are in the
ocean, and while at a certain level one may be moving slowly, a few
hundred feet higher or lower there may be another moving twice as
fast. The balloonist who can take advantage of these currents is much
benefited, especially in a race.
But, though he nearly caught up to the big red airship, Mr. Glassford
did not send his machine ahead, which he might easily have done had he
increased the speed of the motor. But he wanted to be sparing of his
gasolene; and, as he said, the race was only just started.
The other four ships were slightly in the rear, and they were all about
in line.
After the first excitement of the start was over, the boys settled down
to enjoy themselves. They were about a thousand feet high, and in spite
of the sun there was a cool breeze. Below them the earth stretched out
like a broad map. Park Haven was fast disappearing in the distance.
All the forenoon they sailed, keeping in about the same relative
positions. Dinner was eaten at an elevation of a little over half a
mile, as Mr. Glassford went up still higher in an endeavor to locate a
better air current, in which he was not successful.
During the afternoon the red balloon increased her lead somewhat, and
the boys looked a trifle anxiously at their pilot. Mr. Glassford,
however, evinced no alarm.
“I guess you’d better take charge a while, Jerry,” he said. “I want to
adjust some of the recording instruments.”
Jerry, trying to appear like a veteran, went to the steering tower,
while his chums amused themselves by taking snapshots of the earth
below them, with cameras they had brought along.
The afternoon passed, with the red ship still ahead, but Mr. Glassford
would not increase the speed of his motor. It began to grow dusk,
though it was not time for the sunset. A look to the west showed a big
bank of clouds that had obscured the sun.
“I’m afraid we’re in for a storm,” remarked the inventor as he went
toward the pilot house.