THE AEROPLANE RACE.
“Frank, we’re in great luck!”
“I think so myself, Andy,” replied the taller of the cousins, as he
coolly bent down to adjust some little thing about the engine of the
monoplane.
“Here it’s past noon on the great day! Six thousand good people have
gathered on the field here and on the neighboring fences just to see
us fly, and there isn’t a mite of wind. I say it’s the greatest luck
ever,” and Andy, who was bubbling all over with enthusiasm, turned to
look around at the vast throngs.
The two aeroplanes had been taken to the field where the sports of the
wonderful Old Home Week at Bloomsbury were being carried out.
All through the morning there had been foot racing, athletic games,
and a host of similar amusements that gave the people many thrills and
made them glad that they were in the home town at such a time. But
the greatest event of the whole week was scheduled for that afternoon
at two, when, wind and weather permitting, two home-manufactured
aeroplanes, piloted by boys of Bloomsbury, expected to compete for a
silver cup, supposed to have been offered by the committee, but which
we happen to know had been purchased by genial old Colonel Josiah
Whympers, guardian of our hero, Andy Bird.
The conditions of the race were well understood. They had even been
printed, so that no one might rest in ignorance concerning their nature.
Both aeroplanes were to be started at the same time, so there would be
no advantage on either side. Then the first to successfully land on the
summit of Old Thunder Top mountain and plant an American flag where
the foot of man had, up to now, never touched, was to be declared the
winner.
There was to be no jockeying or trickery. The committee, again inspired
by the colonel, who understood the ways of boys and especially of the
Puss Carberry stripe, had made it plain that any attempt to interfere,
outside of an accident, would disqualify the guilty party from
receiving the fine prize.
Of course, there were few among the vast throng who had ever set eyes
on an airship, save as they may have seen either of the contestants
flying about Bloomsbury while trying out their machines.
The enthusiasm was intense. Everywhere people gathered in clusters to
compare notes. Of course, there were adherents of both contestants.
Sometimes this came through personal feeling, each pilot having his
circle of champions among the boys of the town, although four out of
five favored Frank, on account of his fine, manly disposition.
Nevertheless, there were many who believed that a biplane could easily
outdistance a monoplane in a race, and it was laughable to hear these
people, who were in reality so densely ignorant on the subject,
standing up staunchly for what they believed to be the better type of
air flier.
A rope had been stretched around the space where the two aeroplanes
rested and no one was allowed within this enclosure, unless at the
wish of the contestants. Chief Waller had all his force on the ground
and a number of temporary policemen had been taken on for the week of
hilarity, so that the crowds were handled fairly well.
At a quarter to two the people were to be pressed back all along the
line, for when the word was given the contesting air craft would
require a certain space in which to flash over the field before taking
wings and soaring aloft.
No wonder Andy trembled with excitement as he gazed upon the sea of
upturned and expectant faces that centered on the enclosure as the
time drew near for the start.
“It’s only wanting ten minutes now, Frank!” he remarked, trying to keep
his voice steady.
“Brace up, Andy,” said the other, with a frown. “You mustn’t allow
yourself to get in that shape. Remember all you’ve learned and how you
managed to keep your head cool yesterday in a trying time. Make up your
mind we’re just going to get up on that old mountain before the other
fellows have a chance to beat us. There’s Puss, just as excited as you,
but he never shows it. Don’t let them see that you are trembling all
over. It weakens our chances!”
Somehow it seemed to give Andy’s heart a new impetus to know that he
was not the only one who was in a quake.
“All right, Frank, I’ll be in trim once we get a decent start. But I’m
in a funk now for fear something will go wrong with the glide-off.
If they get a start of us we’re going to be in the soup!” he said,
anxiously.
“Oh, rats! Don’t you know they’re just as possible to have trouble in
making the start as we are? Just make up your mind both of us are going
to get away as neatly as we usually do, and that the race is going to
be to the swift.”
“But I’ve heard lots of people sing the praises of that Gnome engine
they’ve got in the biplane. It does its work with a rush!” observed
Andy.
“All right. We simply believe we’ve got a much better one in the new
and light little Kinkaid. And we’re just going to prove it!” continued
Frank, positively.
“Well, it hasn’t failed us even once so far, for a fact,” admitted
Andy; “and I guess I’m a fool for doubting it now. I’m hoping that
later on that same motor will be buzzing away down in a country where
there won’t be any crowd to watch how we get along. Five minutes now,
Frank!”
“Get in your place then and be ready. Seconds may count with us and
we don’t ever want to be caught unprepared!” said the pilot of the
monoplane, as he cast a last look over everything that would have to do
with the success or failure of the flight.
That was always Frank Bird’s slogan--_be prepared_! He hit the nail on
the head when he declared that readiness was almost half the battle.
That was what won the war for Germany, when France started operations
so suddenly away back in 1870. The army north of the Rhine was a vast
machine and every single member of it knew just what was expected of
him when the time came!
So wise Frank had carefully sized up the present situation. He had
mapped out in his mind just what sort of emergencies were liable to
occur in a race of this kind, and settled in advance how he could best
meet, and grapple with them in case of need.
He knew just how the wind was apt to strike them after they had risen
to a certain height, and also what sort of clever maneuvers would best
counteract the effect of a head breeze, that must increase as they
neared the mountain crest.
On the other hand, Puss Carberry never bothered his head about such
trifles. He expected the superior speeding capacity of his big biplane
to carry him to victory, regardless of anything his rival might attempt
in the way of aerial strategy.
Possibly, ere the competition came to a close, Puss might have learned
a lesson he would not be apt to soon forget--that often these same
trifles may win or lose a battle, whether on the field of war, or in an
aeroplane competition for a prize.
The five minutes was gradually growing less, and of course the
excitement increased in consequence, until it was at fever heat. Heads
were craned, and people pushed hither and thither, seeking new points
of advantage. For while they readily understood that both airships
could be easily watched, once they rose from the ground, everybody
wanted to witness with their own eyes the curious and interesting dash
along the field that would be a necessary forerunner of the flight.
All sorts of instruments had been fetched along, which might prove
useful when the contestants were nearing the summit of Old Thunder Top.
Here a lady had a pair of pearl-mounted opera glasses, that perhaps had
once been leveled at a Patti, perhaps dating back even to a Jenny Lind.
Beside her would be a farmer, who had a telescope of brass, one of
the ancient kind used on board ships many decades back, and which was
undoubtedly an heirloom in his family.
Then there were numerous up-to-date field and marine glasses; while
others depended on their clear eyesight to tell them which aeroplane
touched first the up-to-now never explored crown of the grim old
mountain, with its range of cliffs rebuffing would-be climbers.
Two minutes more!
A great hush had fallen on the throng. Every eye doubtless was glued on
the little enclosure, and the two distinct groups collected about the
rival air craft.
The master of ceremonies had assumed charge. He warned both contestants
once more to play the game fairly, telling them that the danger was
great enough without either taking unnecessary risks in making a foul.
Signals had been arranged whereby the discharge of cannon were to serve
as a warning against interference. One shot would direct Frank to
steer clear, while a double report meant that the biplane was cutting
dangerously across the path of its rival, and must sheer off under
penalty of being disqualified.
They knew Puss in Bloomsbury. His reputation as a lover of clean sport
was none too good. There were many who anticipated that if he saw that
his chances in the race were practically hopeless, Puss Carberry would
not hesitate to do some mean trick, and stoutly claim that it was
an accident--that his steering apparatus had fouled, causing him to
collide with the slighter monoplane.
Of course this was a most foolhardy thing to dream of doing, since
a foul in midair might not only send his rivals down to death, but
imperil his own life. And yet there were those among his own chums who
winked knowingly as they talked over things in low voices, and assured
each other that Puss was bound to win, or know the reason why.
Frank had his own private opinion on this subject. He had long made
Puss Carberry a study, and believed he had the other pretty well sized
up. He was a peculiar combination of a boy, bold at times almost to
rashness; and again cautious beyond imagination. And Frank knew that
there was constant war within him between the good and the bad, though
on nearly all occasions the latter predominated.
He had made up his mind that Puss was too shrewd to risk such a thing
as a collision in midair. If he attempted any of his customary dirty
work it would come in an altogether different way.
All who were not to have a part in the starting of the aeroplanes had
been pressed beyond the ropes. To have no advantage on either side,
and make the start exactly fair, a certain number had been limited as
assistants.
“Are you ready for the start?”
It was the master of ceremonies who called this out in a loud voice.
“Silence! silence!” went from lip to lip; and several groups of
giggling girls felt the rebuke enough to subside.
“Ready!” called out Frank, promptly, while Andy took a big breath, and
gripped the upright beside him nervously.
Both of them had their eyes on the course in front. Frank saw that it
was practically clear of people, so that the chances of any trouble
were reduced to a minimum. He was glad of this, because if the
contestants were recalled to try for another start the strain would be
almost unbearable.
He heard Puss answer “all ready, Judge,” after a trifling delay, as
though he might have thought of some slight change at the very last
second.
Then came a brief period of suspense. Perhaps it was only a few
seconds, while the starter glanced to right and left to make sure that
everything was as it should be, and the track clear. But to poor Andy
it seemed as though the delays were interminable, and that an hour must
have elapsed.
He was impelled to turn his head, and see what the Judge could be
doing; but remembering the positive instructions given by his cousin,
he resolutely shut his jaws, and refrained.
Would the signal never come? Those who were to assist in launching the
aerial craft had assumed an attitude of expectancy. Their muscles were
set, and they stood ready to give the initial push as the propellers
started whirling.
Suddenly the loud voice of the starter rang out, sharp and clear:
“_Then go!_”