A RUSH ORDER
“I’d like to find the man that did that!” stormed John Davis in great
rage.
“It wasn’t a man—it was a boy,” said Ben, but he distinctly said it
to himself.
There was trouble at the _Flyer_ camp. It had just been discovered.
That morning Mr. Davis had joined in the principal feats of the
preliminary aviation meet.
It had been a real endurance test and the barograph record was one
of the principal features of the event. The _Torpedo_ did very
well as to speed, but was lacking in the altitude test. When the
barographs were removed from the various machines the _Flyer_ showed
a 6,211-foot record. The _Torpedo_ was fourth down in the list.
There never was a glummer, more sullen man than Burr Rollins when
the announcement was made. It was pretty conclusive that the _Flyer_
would go into the convention the favorite entry for the coming big
aero meet.
“There’s Saturday left,” growled Rollins, as he turned his back on
his fellow aviators in a wrathful way.
“I’ll beat the _Torpedo_ there, too,” declared Mr. Davis confidently.
“It can run like a whitehead on a straight course, but bungles at
the turns. You lads want to keep in trim. There’s no saying what the
_Flyer_ may not want of you at the big event.”
Now to sanguine enthusiasm there had come a sudden dampener that
had made Ben look blank and Bob gruesome with anxiety. Mr. Davis,
ordinarily cheerful and even tempered, went all to pieces.
About four o’clock in the afternoon, after the encouraging victories
of the day, the old aviator had decided to visit the hangar that
housed the _Flyer_, to look over the machine and oil up and adjust
the machinery for the last trial of the meet. A startling discovery
greeted the aeronaut and his two young friends.
One of the great claims of the _Flyer_ was that it had a double
mechanism to the steering apparatus, that admitted of unusually
prompt and efficient manipulation in case of striking a sudden change
in the air currents. Mr. Davis with a good deal of pride claimed to
be responsible for the adaptation—he did not call it an invention.
This essential and precious part of the mechanism of the _Flyer_ was
found unlocked from its bearings. Its inner rim of babbitt metal had
been chiselled out of place, and the main part of the device had been
broken squarely in two as if from the blows of a sledge hammer.
“It’s easy to guess why this was done,” remarked Bob Dallow hotly.
“Yes,” assented Mr. Davis, pale and excited, “this is foul play, the
work of an enemy.”
He glanced at the boys in turn in a significant way, but did not
voice his suspicions. All hands thought instantly of Burr Rollins.
“Well, if we found the culprit, and convicted him and tarred and
feathered him into the bargain and drove him out of the camp and the
profession, it wouldn’t mend the _Flyer_,” observed the old aviator,
with a disconsolate look at his beloved machine. “It’s all up for me
for to-morrow’s flight, lads.”
“Don’t say that, Mr. Davis!” cried Bob, almost at the point of tears.
“Surely it can be repaired.”
“I don’t know how,” dissented the aviator. “That fixing was made from
a special model. It took a week to make it, and the mechanic who
assisted me in its construction is five hundred miles away.”
“Let me look at it, please,” suggested Ben, and he went over the
broken parts of the device critically.
“Mr. Davis,” he said, “I don’t want to hold out any false hopes, but
if anything can be done towards fixing this I know the way.”
“You think it can be repaired?”
“Or replaced—yes, sir.”
“Within twelve hours?” pressed the aviator anxiously. “Remember, time
is the main point in this difficulty.”
“Yes, I know that,” assented Ben, studying the device. “I think my
father can help you out.”
“But the place where he works will be shut down by the time you reach
Woodville.”
“You had better let me try what I can do, Mr. Davis,” said Ben.
“If you can replace that joint, Ben,” said the aviator, “I will stand
any expense and never forget the favor.”
“It shall not cost you a cent, and it will make me a happy boy if I
can get back in time with the article.”
Mr. Davis consulted a timetable. He looked disappointed.
“No train moving Woodville way for four hours,” he reported.
“Oh, I can fix that,” declared Ben.
He wrapped up the pieces of the broken part and stowed them in two
parcels in his pockets. Then he said:
“I will be back by eight o’clock in the morning, Mr. Davis, or send
you a telegram.”
“You’ll be back,” predicted Bob Dallow animatedly. “You’re starting
out right to make a go of it, I can see that.”
“Come on, Bob,” directed Ben. “Don’t worry, Mr. Davis. Everything
shall be done that can be done.”
“I believe that, Ben,” said the aviator warmly.
“What’s the programme?” inquired Bob, as Ben led the way from the
Davis camp over to a neighboring one.
“I am going to ask that friendly young fellow of Barton’s to loan me
his motor-cycle.”
“Grand idea!” applauded Bob. “He’s an accommodating boy, and will be
glad to help you through.”
Ten minutes later Ben was chug—chugging his way from Blairville down
a fine country road in the direction of Woodville.
“I won’t tell Mr. Davis of my discovery until after to-morrow’s event
is over,” soliloquized Ben. “I’ll have to give him a warning, though.
Of course, that ill-natured Rollins is behind this plot to disable
the _Flyer_. Dick Farrell did the work for him, though.”
Ben had good reasons for this decision. Immediately after the
discovery of the disabled monoplane, Ben had noticed a piece of
paper lying under the machine. It was all greasy and crinkled. Ben,
inspecting this, found it covered with writing. It was a letter
from Dave Shallock at Woodville to Dick Farrell at the aero field.
The latter had used it to wipe the grease from his hands after his
manipulation of the monoplane machinery.
Ben rode into the yard at home just as his father and mother were
sitting down to supper. He was covered with dust and pretty well
tired out from his rapid run. He received a royally glad welcome,
washed up, and thoroughly enjoyed a home meal once more.
“I have come to have you help me out on something, father,” said Ben
after supper.
“What is that, my son?” inquired Mr. Hardy.
Ben produced the broken parts of the monoplane mechanism and
explained the urgency of the unexpected home visit. His father
listened attentively and closely examined the pieces of metal.
“Can you mend it, father?” inquired Ben anxiously.
“It is no easy job,” replied Mr. Hardy seriously. “What time did you
say you could give me on it?”
“In order to be of any use, it must be at the field by eight o’clock
to-morrow morning at the latest,” replied Ben.
Mr. Hardy went for his hat and told his wife that he and Ben might
not be home until very late.
“If the plant was running, this might be a mere trifle,” said Mr.
Hardy, as Ben accompanied him in the direction of the Saxton works.
When they arrived at the plant they found the watchman strolling in
the shop yards. A few words from Mr. Hardy resulted in his unlocking
a side door and letting them into the machine shop. Mr. Hardy went
to the section where there were some small hand lathes. He lit the
gas in their vicinity and took off his coat, putting on his working
blouse.
As has been indicated, Mr. Hardy was a skilled artisan. The present
task, however, was one that fully tested his mettle. Ben watched his
patient, painstaking efforts till nearly ten o’clock. He was glad
when his father required his assistance at a small portable forge,
and later at a lathe propelled by foot and hand power.
“Lay down on the bench yonder, Ben,” directed Mr. Hardy about
midnight, “and take a little rest.”
“Can’t I help you, father?” inquired Ben.
“Nothing now, Ben,” replied Mr. Hardy. “It will take me several hours
to finish up this piece of work, and you will have a long day before
you.”
Daylight was streaming through the windows of the machine shop when
Ben opened his eyes. His father was standing at the bench inspecting
the result of his long labors. He looked quite white and wearied. For
all that, Ben read in his face the satisfaction of work successfully
accomplished.
“Did you make it, father?” he inquired, springing to his feet.
“Yes, Ben. I would advise, however, that Mr. Davis have a new bearing
made soon. This will answer for a time, but it is only a patched-up
make-shift.”
The device was bundled up. Ben accompanied his father home, and they
had a refreshing breakfast. Then Ben got the motor-cycle in shape for
the return trip to the aviation field.
“You are the best father ever lived!” declared the boy, as he
strapped the little piece of machinery to the cycle.
“That’s worth something—coming from a bright, active young fellow
like you,” smiled Mr. Hardy in reply.
“And the smartest man in the bargain!” added Ben.
“We’ll try some of it, then, on that wonderful monoplane you are
going to build, Ben,” said his father.
Ben reached the aviation grounds before eight o’clock. He received a
rousing greeting from Mr. Davis. He had the satisfaction of seeing
the _Flyer_ make its record flight of the season two hours later.
“Remember, Ben,” said the aviator that afternoon, as Ben bade him
good-bye and started for the train with Bob Dallow, “you are to come
to the big meet the last of the month.”
“I’ll be there,” declared Ben animatedly, “and I’ll be there with a
new airship that I am going to build myself.”
“Good luck to you, Ben!” encouraged the old aviator.