THAT MILLION DOLLARS
Hike had scarcely gone a hundred miles before he found that he was
going to be too tired to send the _Hustle_ as fast as he should;
and he immediately started teaching Major Tomkins the principles of
driving it. The Major knew nearly every make of aeroplane, and had
made a brilliant record, in a Nieuport monoplane, in a St. Petersburg
to Turin international race. He soon picked up the few necessary
differences in running the _Hustle_; and when they struck the broad
plains of the Middle West, Hike finally had a chance to go into that
Land of Sleep, into which Poodle had chubbily toddled long since.
Hike awoke once. The machine was stopped; and landed near a Kentucky
village. The Major had found that one of the wheels on the chassis
was threatening to jar loose, at their terrific speed, and was fixing
it. Then Hike peacefully slumbered off again, and did not take the
levers till they were over Western Kansas.
* * * * *
At Benicia Arsenal, California, they found the Lieutenant, “good old
Jack Adeler,” as Hike yelled at him, nervously and joyously waiting
them. The commandant of the Arsenal insisted on their stopping for
dinner, and even Major Tomkins was not treated with greater respect
than was young Hike Griffin, whom the commandant toasted admiringly.
Off they whirled to Monterey, and found Martin Priest.
The Associated Press had gathered what news it could about the flight
of the _Hustle_, and sent it to newspapers all over the country. The
reporters had been told by General Thorne himself that two boys had
made the greatest flight in the history of aviation, and that the
General was interested in their machine.
That was enough for Martin Priest, and he was sitting at the door of
his aerodrome in the sun, smiling to himself, when Major Tomkins,
Poodle and Hike found him. He was very happy—but he absolutely
refused to appear before the Army Board of Aviation.
“I’ve lost all my glad-rags and Four-Hundred Manners,” he said,
rather roughly, to the Major, “and my machine—and Lieutenant Adeler
and Hike, here—well, I’m afraid they’ll have to speak for me.” He
said nothing more but there was some one else who had something to
say.
Major James Griffin, Hike’s father, had become almost chummy with
Martin Priest in the last two days, since he learned that Hike had
started for Washington. He had been frightened, at first, then a
little angry at Hike. But as he learned from Martin Priest how
gallantly Hike had been guiding the tetrahedral in flights to San
Francisco, and while rescuing the crew of the wrecked yacht, he grew
proud and happy. Finally, when the short newspaper reports of the
success of the flight began to come in, and to be eagerly discussed
with Martin Priest, the Major had chuckled, “Jerry—I was just such a
boy—you couldn’t have kept me out of West Point! Good boy, Jerry is.”
Now, with Hike here before him, tired but successful, and with Major
Tomkins bearing a message from General Thorne, to the effect that
“that’s a great boy of yours, Jim Griffin,”—and with Major Tomkins
singing the praises of Hike’s manner of driving the _Hustle_—why,
all Major Griffin could do was to pound his son affectionately on
the back and say, “Go ahead—and don’t break your neck, if it’s
convenient. As for you, young Darby, I suppose I’ll get Hail Columbia
from your father for letting you go off with this crazy son of
mine—but what can I do?”
About that time, the _Hustle’s_ crew had climbed aboard, with
Lieutenant Adeler at the levers, and they were ready to plunge
eastward.
Lieutenant Jack Adeler stood before the Army Board of Aviation giving
a crisp short account of the Martin Priest Tetrahedral Aeroplane,
how it was made, how run, how much it cost, how fast and how slow it
could go, how much freight and how many passengers it could carry;
and proving the fact that it was the only absolutely safe aeroplane.
When he finished, he could not help glancing over at the corner where
Captain Willoughby Welch sat, silent and angry.
General Thorne, thanking Lieutenant Adeler for his report—made
without notes—ended by following Jack Adeler’s glance over at Welch’s
corner, and said, very dryly:
“As for the eloquent report on the admirable aeroplanes of Messrs.
P. J. Jolls and Company, made by Captain Welch, I think that can
be forgotten. I wish, of course, in no way to appear to attempt to
control the decision of this Board, but, in my opinion, there is no
_possibility_ of this Board’s deciding to devote its funds of nearly
a million to the purchase of anything but Priest tetrahedrals—unless
it be, perhaps, that some small part of it be devoted to the purchase
of one or two machines of one or two other models, for experiment.
“If the persons not members of this Board will now be so kind as to
retire, this Board will go into Executive Session.
“As for you, Captain Welch, as for _you_—
“But pray pardon me, gentlemen, this is no time and place to take up
a matter of discipline.
“Uh, before Mr. Gerald Griffin and Mr. Torrington Darby retire, will
some member of this Board offer a suggestion as to a suitable manner
of thanking them for—”
“Oh, please don’t, General,” begged Hike, blushing, adding, under his
breath, “Aw, _please_ cut it out!”
As they retired from the Board room, Hike knew that the General’s
long words meant they had won; had _won_! that Martin Priest would
have all the money he needed behind him, and no longer be hid from
the world by Captain Welch.
But there were other things Captain Welch _could_ do.