KENNY BREAKS DOWN
The quiet following the storm came as a great relief to Tom and Ned,
alone up there in the cockpit of the plane. Though their friends were
within a few feet of them, they really seemed quite isolated, for they
could neither see nor hear the others in the car below them.
“Well, I’m glad we’re out of that,” remarked Tom, with a long
breath—the first, seemingly, that he had taken in some time.
“Same here!” commented Ned. They were able to converse now by means of
the speaking tube which connected the forward and aft cockpits, having
only to overcome the roar of the motors and not the fierce rattle of the
storm.
“And I guess if we do it inside of nineteen hours we’ve accomplished a
lot,” went on Tom. “The Broadway Limited thinks it’s doing wonders if it
goes from New York to Chicago in eighteen, but we have them skinned by
several miles.”
“You said it!” cried Ned, with justified enthusiasm. “But do you think
you’ll lose all of two hours, Tom?”
“Fully that,” Tom admitted, rather ruefully. “I did hope we might make
it in sixteen hours and a few minutes, as I said we could do. But that
storm actually cut two hours, if not more, off our schedule. However, it
can’t be helped.”
So rapidly was the _Osprey_ making time now that it seemed as if the
Golden Gate were rushing forward and opening wide to receive the
wonderful craft and her occupants. It is the sun, setting in a glory of
gold outside the harbor of San Francisco that gives the poetical name to
the city, as much so, perhaps, as the yellow nuggets it produced in the
days that never will return.
There came a signal from the car. It was Ted Dolan calling up to Tom:
“Do you want to be relieved?”
“Thank you, no,” the young inventor answered. “I’ll stick now and make
the landing.”
“I thought you might want to do so,” Ted said. “But if the storm played
you out, Art and I will take her for a little while and you and Mr.
Newton can come up again just before making the landing.”
“No, I’ll stick,” announced Tom. “How about you?” he asked his chum.
“I’m game, of course. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. They ought to
reward you publicly in some way, Tom!”
“Reward! What for?”
“For establishing this airline express—crossing the United States in
the daylight hours of a single day.”
“Reward nothing! If I can do it, the only reward I want is for Jason
Jacks and others who can afford it to invest money in the project and
get it firmly established.”
“Oh, they’ll do that all right, Tom. Is that the landing field below
us?”
Ned pointed to a green level stretch outside the city of San Francisco.
They had approached it rapidly, for the _Osprey_, as if determining to
live up to her name, was fairly zooming toward the Pacific.
“That’s it,” was the answer. “There’s quite a crowd there, too! Hope I
don’t muss anybody’s hair as I go down. Confound the people! Why don’t
they know enough to keep out of the way when they see an aeroplane
coming down right among ’em?”
Well might Tom ask this, for the crowd, which had assembled in
anticipation of seeing the landing, was swarming all over the field in
spite of the efforts of the police to keep a free place for the machine
to come down.
“I’ll give ’em a bit of a scare,” decided Tom. Quickly shifting the
rudder of his plane, it appeared for a moment as if he was going to
crash down where the crowd was thickest. With yells of alarm the people
scattered, and this left a clear space, which was what Tom wanted.
“Now for a landing, Ned!” he called to his chum. “Mark the time!”
“Mark it is!” answered Ned, who sat with his watch in one hand and a
pencil in the other, ready to make the record on the official slip of
paper he held on his knee. “It’s over eighteen hours, though, Tom,” he
said regretfully.
“I’m afraid it is, Ned. But it can’t be helped. Better luck next time!”
“Hope so,” was the response.
A moment later, amid the wild and enthusiastic cheers of the crowd, Tom
brought the _Osprey_ to earth, the first time she had touched it since
leaving Denver. The car landed with a gentle thud, rolled along a little
way and then came to a stop while the crowd of reporters, cameramen, and
general curiosity seekers rushed forward in an overwhelming wave. It was
a reproduction of the same scenes that had taken place in Chicago and
Denver, only this was more intensified, for it marked the end of the
journey.
But before Tom would reply to the score of questions hurled at him by
the reporters he called to Ned:
“What time do you make it?”
The manager figured rapidly.
“Eighteen hours and sixteen minutes from Long Island to San Francisco,”
he answered.
“Not so bad,” murmured Tom. “But we’re going to do better than that the
next time.”
And then, as he stepped down from the plane, he was surrounded by an
excited and curious crowd.
“Tell us about it! What was the exact running time? Did you have any
accidents? How do you feel? When are you going to make the return trip?”
These, and dozens of other questions, were fairly volleyed at Tom by the
newspaper men, and he answered as best he could. By this time he was
used to the printed publicity that followed his work, and he knew the
value of it. So he was always courteous and kind to the reporters and
photographers, patiently posing for the latter and letting them take as
many pictures as they wanted.
It was a great feat, and every one realized that. As soon as
enterprising reporters had telephoned the facts in to their papers in
San Francisco, whistles were blown and bells were rung to celebrate the
event. Tom was a popular hero, much as he disliked the role.
The news of his arrival was flashed back over land wires and by means of
radio to New York and the East, though Tom did not wait for Mary and his
father to receive the good news in this indirect way. As soon as he had
given the reporters the gist of the story, speaking of the terrible
storm through which they had run, Tom had his operator get in touch with
his home on the radio. In a short time Tom’s voice was heard in the
house at Shopton where Mary, her father and mother, and Mr. Swift had
been sitting, anxiously waiting. It was night there, though still
daylight in San Francisco.
“I’m all right, Dad!” reported the young inventor. “Didn’t make it quite
as speedily as I hoped, but I’ll do better on the return trip. How’s
Mary?”
“She’s all right,” answered Mr. Swift. “She will speak to you in a
moment. But, Tom, be careful. I’m worried about you. A number of
mysterious messages have come in over the telephone wires during the
day. I’m afraid your enemies are still on your trail.”
“Well, maybe they are, Dad, but I think I have given them the slip,”
laughed Tom. “Anyhow, they couldn’t stop me from making this one trip.
And now let me talk to Mary.”
They were soon in conversation and the girl was greatly relieved to
learn that Tom and his friends were safe.
“But do be careful, won’t you?” she begged.
“I sure will!” Tom promised. “Don’t worry! I haven’t seen any of those
fellows out here. Guess it was too far for them.”
He was soon to learn, however, that this was not the case.
Bidding Mary good-bye over the radio and promising to talk to her again
as soon as he could, Tom shut off the power on the wireless and made
preparations for having his machine guarded during the night. Except for
some of the mechanicians who would sleep on board, the others were to go
to a hotel. There they would get some much-needed rest and prepare to
make the return trip in a few days. Tom wanted time, however, to have
the engines carefully gone over. Also he wanted to communicate with the
crews in Denver and Chicago and have them alert and ready to speed him
on his way when the return trip should be made.
A hasty inspection of the _Osprey_ showed that the plane had sustained
no damage in flying through the storm, but could, after a few
adjustments, make the return journey.
“Well, what do you say to a good bath, Ned, and a lobster supper?” asked
Tom of his chum, when they had summoned an automobile which would take
them and Mr. Damon, with Eradicate, to the hotel.
“That sounds good to me,” Ned answered.
“Koku he stay and guard machine,” announced the big giant proudly, for
Tom had informed him that was to be his duty.
“Don’t let anybody near it,” cautioned his master.
“Anybody come—Koku make ’um all full holes,” was the grim answer.
“Mebby Ah better stay, too,” suggested Eradicate.
“No, I want you with me, Rad,” Tom said. “I need looking after and so
does Ned. We brought only one suit of clothes each, and they need
pressing.”
“Dat’s whut I’ll do!” said the old colored man. He was pleased thus to
serve his master.
So great was the interest manifested by the papers in Tom’s exploit that
he could hardly get away from the reporters long enough to eat. At last
he had fairly to beg them to give him a few minutes of quiet, and
reluctantly they consented.
But after he had bathed and dined they were at him again, so it was long
past midnight when Tom was really free. Mr. Damon, tired with the
unusual trip, had retired, and thus Tom and his financial manager found
themselves left pretty much alone.
“I don’t feel a bit like sleeping,” Tom said, “I’d only toss and tumble
if I went to bed.”
“Same here,” agreed Ned.
“What do you say if we take a run out to the plane?” asked Tom. “I’d
like to make sure she’s all right, even with Koku and the others on
guard. There’s altogether too much curiosity about her.”
“I’m with you—come on.”
A taxicab took them out to the landing field, but, being a new man, the
driver made a wrong approach and found himself on a blind road, half a
mile from the _Osprey’s_ landing place.
“Never mind,” said Tom, when the man offered to go back and approach by
the proper route. “We can make better time by walking across lots. This
will do.”
Tom paid and dismissed the driver and then he and Ned made their way
through the darkness, somewhat illuminated by the moon, toward the place
where the craft rested. Their approach was unnoticed, which was
beginning to make Tom think that perhaps Koku was not as active on guard
duty as he might have been, when suddenly from the bushes just ahead of
them a man sprang. He started to run away, but Ned, sensing something
suspicious in his movements, sprang forward and caught hold of him.
“Who are you?” cried the young financial manager. “What have you been
doing? Show a light here, Tom,” for Ned knew his chum carried a pocket
flashlight.
When the gleam was thrown on the man’s face Tom cried:
“Kenny! You here!”
Then, to the surprise of Tom and Ned, the fellow broke down and actually
began to whimper as if his spirit was broken.
“I give up, Mr. Swift!” he exclaimed. “I can’t fight against you! It’s
too big a thing you’ve done. Nobody else could have done it. I’m through
with those fellows! But look out—they’ll ruin you if they get the
chance. Now have me arrested if you want to—I’m done!”
He stood there, making no effort to escape, a broken, dejected man.