THE YOUNG AVIATOR
"Telegram, sir."
"Who for?"
"Dave Dashaway."
"I'll take it."
The messenger boy who had just entered the hangar of the great prize
monoplane of the aero meet at Columbus, stared wonderingly about him
while the man in charge of the place receipted for the telegram.
The lad had never been in so queer a place before. He was a lively,
active city boy, but the closest he had ever seen an airship was a
distance away and five hundred feet up in the air. Now, with big
wonder eyes he stared at the strange appearing machine. His fingers
moved restlessly, like a street-urchin surveying an automobile and
longing to blow its horn.
The man in charge of the place attracted his attention, too. He had
only one arm and limped when he walked. His face was scarred and he
looked like a war veteran. The only battles this old warrior had
been in, however, were fights with the elements. He was a famous
"wind wagon" man who had sustained a terrible fall in an endurance
race. It had crippled him for life. Now he followed the various
professional meets for a living, and also ran an aviation school for
amateurs. His name was John Grimshaw.
The messenger boy took a last look about the place and left. The
old man put on a cap, went to the door and rather gruesomely faced
the elements.
"A cold drizzling rain and gusty weather generally," he said to
himself in a grumbling tone. "I'll face it any time for Dashaway,
though. The telegram may be important."
The big aero field looked lonely and gloomy as the man crossed it.
Lights showed here and there in the various buildings scattered
about the enclosure. The ground was wet and soft. The rain came in
chilling dashes. Old Grimshaw breasted the storm, and after half a
mile's walk came to a hangar a good deal like the one he had left.
There was a light inside.
"Hello, there!" he sang out in his big foghorn voice, thrusting the
door open with his foot and getting under the shelter, and shaking
the rain from his head and shoulders.
Two boys were the occupants of the place. They had a lamp on the
table, upon which was outspread pictures and plans of airships. The
older of the two got up from his chair with a pleasant smiling face.
"Why, it's Mr. Grimshaw!" he exclaimed.
"That's who it is," joined in the other boy cheerily. "Say, you're
welcome, too. We were looking over some sketches of new machines,
and you can tell us lots about them, you know."
"Got to get back to my own quarters," declared Grimshaw. "Some
other time about those pictures. Boy brought a telegram to Mr.
King's hangar. It's for you, Dashaway."
"For me?" inquired the lad who had first addressed the visitor.
"Yes. Here it is. Mr. King's away, but if you need me for anything
let me know."
"I'm always needing you," replied Dave Dashaway. "I don't know what
we'd do without you."
The young aviator--for such he was in fact and reality--took the
proffered envelope. He tore open its end and read the enclosure
rapidly.
"Why," he said, "this is strange."
"Any answer? Need me?" asked Grimshaw, moving towards the door.
"No, thank you," replied Dave in a vague, bothered way that made his
companion and chum, Hiram Dobbs, study his face with some
perplexity.
"I'd better get back home, then," said the old man. "Fine weather
for hydroplanes this, eh?"
Both Dave and Hiram proceeded to the door with the grim old fellow
who had so kindly taught them all they knew about aeronautics. When
their visitor had departed, Dave went back to the table. He sat
down and perused the telegram once more. Then he sat looking
fixedly at it, as if he was studying some hard problem. Hiram stood
it as long as he could. Then he burst out impetuously:
"What is it, Dave?"
"I'm trying to find out," was the abstracted reply.
"Who is it from?"
"The Interstate Aeroplane Co."
That name meant a good deal to Hiram Dobbs, and a great deal more to
Dave Dashaway. It marked the starting point in the aviation career
of the latter, and that in its turn had meant a first step up the
ladder for his faithful comrade, Hiram.
In the first volume of this series, entitled:
"Dave Dashaway, the Young Aviator; Or, In the Clouds for Fame and
Fortune," the career of Dave Dashaway has been told. The father of
the young airman had been a noted balloonist, and when he died a
mean old skinflint named Silas Warner had been appointed Dave's
guardian. Warner had acted the tyrant and hard taskmaster for the
youth. A natural love for aeronautics had been born in Dave. He
had made an airship model which his guardian had maliciously
destroyed. Warner had also appropriated a package dropped
accidentally by a famous aviator, named Robert King, from a
monoplane.
Dave had found this package, containing money, a watch and a medal
greatly prized by Mr. King. Dave resolved that this property should
be restored to the airman. He got hold of the lost articles, which
his guardian had secreted, and ran away from home.
After various adventures, during which he was robbed of the airman's
property, Dave managed to reach the aero meet at Fairfield. He
found Robert King and described to him the boy thief. The airman
took a fancy to Dave from the nerve and ability he showed in
experimenting with a parachute garment, and hired him.
About the same time Hiram Dobbs came along, ambitious to change his
farm life for an aviation career, and secured work helping about the
grounds. Mr. King sent Dave to Grimshaw for training. The
Interstate Aeroplane Co. wanted to exhibit its Baby Racer, a novel
biplane. Dave made a successful demonstration, and won the
admiration and good will of the company.
In a few weeks time Dave scored a big success and won several
trophies. His final exploit was taking the place of an aviator who
had fainted away in his monoplane, and winning the race for Mr.
King's machine. Dave was now the proud possessor of a pilot's
license, and had fairly entered the professional field.
The thief who had stolen Mr. King's property from Dave, a graceless
youth named Gregg, was found, and the property recovered. He had
also got hold of some papers that belonged to Dave's father. Gregg
through these had obtained a trace of a Mr. Dale, a great friend of
the dead balloonist. He had made Mr. Dale believe he was the real
Dave Dashaway, until he was unmasked.
Another bad boy Dave had run across was named Jerry Dawson. From
the start in his career as an airman this youth had been an enemy.
Dave had succeeded him in the employ of Mr. King, Jerry having been
discharged in disgrace. Jerry tried to "get even," as he called it,
by trying to wreck Mr. King's monoplane, the Aegis. He also
betrayed Dave's whereabouts to his guardian. Because Dave was right
and Jerry wrong, there plots rebounded on the schemer and did Dave
no harm.
Jerry and his father were exposed. They still followed the various
meets, however, just as Mr. King and Dave and Hiram did, but they
were shunned by all reputable airmen.
After leaving the aero meet at Dayton the proud possessor of a
trophy as winner of a one hundred mile dash, Dave now found himself
and his friends on the aero, grounds at Columbus. This was a summer
resort located on Lake Michigan. A two weeks' programme had been
arranged, in which Dave was to give exhibitions for his employers of
their new model hydroplane.
Hiram was practicing for a flight in the Baby Racer. The two
friends that rainy summer evening were interested in plans for the
coming meet and aviation business generally. The arrival of the
telegram once more introduces the reader to Dave Dashaway, now
popularly known as the young aviator.
The telegram which Grimshaw had brought to Dave was dated at the
headquarters of the Interstate Aeroplane Co., some three hundred
miles distant. It was addressed to Dave in care of Mr. King, and it
was signed by the manager of the company. It read as follows:
"Our sales agent, Timmins, reported from your quarters at Columbus
three days ago. Was due at Kewaukee this morning on big contract
with County Fair Amusement Co. Wired Northern Hotel there, where we
had forwarded all the contracts and papers, and he is not there.
Find him at any expense, and get him to Kewaukee before to-morrow
morning, or the Star Aero Co. will get the order. Fear some trick.
This means ten thousand dollars to us."
Dave read and reread this message, weighing every word in his mind
as he did so. Hiram sat watching him in a fever of suspense and
anxiety. Finally he exclaimed:
"See here, Dave Dashaway, is that Greek you can't make out, or have
you gone to sleep?"
"I was only trying to figure out this telegram," replied Dave
thoughtfully. "Here, read it for yourself, and see what you make of
it."
The young aviator passed the yellow sheet over to his curious
friend. The latter scanned it rapidly. Then, with startling
suddenness, his face twitching with excitement, he jumped to his
feet.
"What do I make of it?" shouted Hiram. "Just what the telegram
says--a trick! It's come all over me in a flash. Why, Dick, I know
all about it."