On returning to the Flying Road Racer’s shed that afternoon, the lads’
ears were saluted by a buzzing, roaring sound that they instantly
recognized.
“Somebody’s started up the motor!” exclaimed Jack, in a voice in which
anger mingled with astonishment.
“That’s right,” echoed Tom indignantly, “wonder who on earth it can be?”
“Come on, let’s hurry up and find out,” and Jack started on a run for
the shed.
As he reached the door, clouds of blue smoke met him. The vapor almost
choked him. Whoever was tampering with the motor had neglected to pay
much attention to the lubricating devices, with the result that the
fumes of burning oil filled the air.
“Oh, hello, Jack Chadwick. I—you see—I thought you wouldn’t mind me
looking at your machine,” exclaimed a lad of about Jack’s own age, as
the indignant young inventor burst into the shed with Tom close on his
heels.
The lad who spoke was a rather thick-set youth, with a pronounced squint
in his eyes which did not improve his mean and crafty face. Beside him
was another boy, a little younger, dressed in a loud gray suit with a
bright colored necktie. He was smoking a cigarette.
“Say, you Sam Taylor, put that thing out,” cried Jack, as he entered the
shed and took in the scene before him.
“Oh, I suppose you are one of those sissies who get sick when they
smoke,” sneered Sam Taylor, in an aggravating tone.
“I’ve never tried it, so I don’t know,” snapped Jack, “but if you want
to ruin your health you’d better do it elsewhere than in this shed. And
you, Zack Baker,” he went on, turning to the other lad, “what are you
doing in here? You might have waited till you were invited.”
In the meantime Tom had stopped the motor and was draining the flooded
engine.
“No need to get so mad,” retorted Zack, “as I told you, we thought we’d
just drop in and see how the thing worked.”
“Yes, and you might have ruined it,” snapped out Tom indignantly. “I
like your nerve in marching in here without speaking to us.”
“Oh, well, don’t get so cross about it. No harm done,” struck in Sam
Taylor, who had prudently thrown away his cigarette; “what’s the use of
getting all worked up over it?”
“I’m not worked up,” replied Jack, with a flushed and angry face, “but I
don’t want you fellows prying about here.”
“Don’t be alarmed. We won’t steal your precious invention,” said Sam, in
his sneering tones. “Come on, Zack, we’ve seen all we wanted to see,
anyhow.”
“Yes, come on,” said Zack, with a rather uncomfortable look on his face,
“we know better than to stay where we are not wanted. Anyhow, I’ve got
something that will surprise you fellows. I’ll bet it’ll beat you at
flying, even if you do get Mr. Peregrine to help you out.”
With this remark, which he considered quite crushing, Zack swung out of
the shed, followed by his pasty-faced companion. Once outside they made
their way to the front gate of High Towers and mounted their bicycles,
on which they had ridden out from the village for the purpose, as we
have seen, of examining the invention of Jack Chadwick and his cousin.
“Wonder how they knew anything about Mr. Peregrine?” said Jack, when he
had thoroughly examined the Flying Road Racer and found that it was
undamaged.
“Oh, Zack’s folks used to live near Pokeville,” rejoined Tom, “and as
for their knowing that he had called on us, I reckon he and Sam saw the
Red Hawk flying over and guessed at its destination.”
“That must be it,” said Jack, picking up a wrench and tightening a bolt
on the Flying Road Racer’s frame, “but they’re the very last chaps I
want snooping round here trying to find out how the Flying Road Racer
works.”
“Which reminds me,” said Tom, “that Zack spoke of some invention of his
that would surprise us. Wonder what it can be?”
“I’ve no idea,” began Jack, and then broke off suddenly, “yes, by
ginger, I have, though; I do recall hearing, last time I was in
Nestorville, that he and Sam were working on some sort of mechanical
flyer.”
“Gee whiz! I’d like to see it,” laughed Tom. “I’ll bet it can’t fly any
more than an old bullfrog.”
“I’m not bothering about it one way or the other,” rejoined Jack, “and
now, as the machine is all fixed up, what do you say if we try it out on
a trial spin?”
“The very thing,” said Tom, “it’ll feel good to be riding in it again.
Wait till I run up to the house and get the dust coats, and I’ll be with
you.”
While Tom was gone Jack started up the engine and ran the odd-looking
air-and-land machine out of the shed. With its heavy uprights and the
big folds of the empty gas bag on top, the Flying Road Racer looked even
odder when outside than it had within its shelter. But that, despite its
cumbersome appearance, it was capable of good speed, was soon shown when
the boys had swung down the driveway and out upon the smooth road
leading to Nestorville.
“Going into the village?” asked Tom, noting the direction in which his
cousin was driving.
“Yes. I want to get some copper wire and some bolts. After that we can
take a spin out into the country.”
As he spoke Jack pressed the accelerator, and the rather ponderous car
leaped forward like a scared wild thing. The dust rose about it in
clouds, for the weather had been hot and dry for some time. But the road
was straight and Jack did not decrease the speed. Instead, it rather
increased as they flew along.
They had crossed a bridge on the outskirts of Nestorville and were still
proceeding at a good pace, when something came into sight which caused
Jack to slow down. It was a cloud of dust, but so thick that it
effectually concealed whatever was causing it.
“Another auto coming, I guess,” conjectured Tom.
Jack shook his head.
“I don’t think so,” he said, “it’s coming too slowly for that. Maybe a
flock of sheep or—Jiminy crickets!”
Out of the dust cloud, which a vagrant puff of wind swept aside, had
suddenly emerged a most curious looking object. It resembled nothing so
much as a large bee or horse-fly. But it was of metal, and of quite a
size. In a series of extraordinary leaps and bounds, zigzagging from one
side of the road to the other, it advanced toward the astonished boys.
“What on earth is it?” gasped Tom, as Jack slowed down the auto to a
crawl.
“It’s Zack’s flying machine. That’s what it is,” exclaimed Jack, “ho!
ho! ho! If that isn’t a crazy-looking machine!”
Indeed, the object now coming toward them with wobbly leaps and hops,
was a most curious-looking affair. Its metal wings flopped up and down
with great speed, and underneath it could be seen a sort of legs, with
wheels on them in place of toes or feet. In between the wings sat Zack,
with an alarmed look on his face. In the road behind him was a small
runabout auto in which sat Sam Taylor, encouraging him. But Zack paid no
attention. In fact, it was taking all his energies to manage his odd
machine.
“Well, whatever else it will do, it won’t fly,” declared Tom, “and you’d
better look out for it, Jack. I don’t believe he has it under control.”
Indeed it didn’t appear so. Zack could now be seen striving with levers
and wheels, and the motor of the odd machine gave out a continuous
volley of sharp reports.
“Stick to it, Zack!” called out Sam encouragingly from his auto, in
which he slowly followed the wild evolutions of Zack’s mechanical bug—
for so it could, with propriety, be called. But Zack paid no attention
to him. Instead, he began shouting to Jack:
“Pull out of the road! Pull out of the road! I can’t control it.”
Jack maneuvered the Flying Road Racer till its outside wheels overhung a
ditch at the side of the road. He had just completed this move when
Zack’s machine, its wings beating faster than ever, actually left the
ground and soared into the air.
“Hooray! That’s it, Zack! You’re flying!” shouted Sam enthusiastically,
although it is doubtful if he would have cared to change places with his
crony.
But although Zack had begun to soar, his flight soon ended. At a height
of about four feet from the ground the machine wobbled and then crashed
to earth. Zack strove in vain to stop it as it drove, snorting and
popping, full at the Flying Road Racer, which Jack could not steer
further off the road.
“Look out!” cried Jack, “you’ll be into us. You’ll——”
The sentence was never completed. As Jack uttered it, Zack gave a wild
yell and tried to jump out of his uncontrollable invention. The next
instant the machine, its wings flapping and its motor buzzing furiously,
struck the front of the Flying Road Racer a glancing blow and then
turned completely over, burying its luckless inventor in a ruin of
twisted rods and bent wings.