KIWI GETS HIS WINGS
AS Kiwi, Armbruster and the Skipper moved over to where the Quirk sat,
they were followed by the entire group who were interested in this novel
experiment.
Armbruster helped Kiwi into the front seat, and then they discovered
that his legs were too short to reach the rudderbar. A shout was sent up
for more cushions. When two of them had been wedged in behind the boy’s
back he could work the rudder very easily. His helmet and goggles were
adjusted and the belt holding him in his seat snapped in place. Then
Armbruster attached the telephones so that he could speak to Kiwi up in
the air, and swung himself into the rear seat. The engine was started.
As they left the group of onlookers there were shouts of encouragement
and Jack, who had just come over, called above the noise of the engine:
“Kiwi, don’t loop him the first time up, will you?”
Kiwi grinned, self-consciously.
They trundled some distance out on the field and turned into the wind.
Then, with the propeller just ticking over, Armbruster said:
“Now, Kiwi, I am going to teach you to fly very much as I taught your
Dad long ago. No harm can come to you here in learning to fly. But I
know you would like to be just such a pilot as your Dad is, and so I am
going to teach you, as he was taught, how to overcome the dangers which
follow stalling a plane in the air and what you must do if the engine
stops suddenly.
“I’ll take the plane off the ground with my set of controls, and after
we get well up in the air I’ll let you fly it straight with your stick
and rudder for a while. You know how it feels to be up. You know how the
rudder works—that it swings the plane from side to side. You know that
the joystick in your hand moved sidewise keeps your wings balanced;
moved forward sends you down; pulled backward pulls the nose of the
plane up. Now take your feet off the rudder and let me see both hands
outside until I tell you to take over control.”
Kiwi did as he was told.
Once in the air, Armbruster could not resist stunting the plane about
over the heads of their audience. Kiwi was treated to an exhibition in
flying such as he had never experienced before. The plane dived toward
the group below, swished up in climbing turns, swung dizzily off on one
wing and, as the wires whistled, pulled sharply around and recovered its
poise. Kiwi had difficulty keeping his sense of balance or a clear idea
of what the plane was doing.
After several minutes of such antics they flew straight and, wiggling
the stick violently, Armbruster told Kiwi through the phones that he
might fly it.
“First of all,” he said, “just keep the plane straight. Keep the nose on
the horizon—pick some point on it and fly toward it.”
Kiwi felt elated that at last he was actually controlling a plane. He
couldn’t resist pushing the rudder slightly with his foot to see what
effect it would have. It startled him to find that the slightest
pressure sent the nose of the plane skidding sidewise. He hurriedly
tried to correct this with the other foot, and discovered that he was
overdoing it and that they were see-sawing back and forth in a crazy
fashion.
The voice of Armbruster came through the phones:
“There, Kiwi, not too much rudder. Rudders are dangerous things. They
have caused a good share of all the accidents.”
Kiwi had the feeling that Armbruster had hastily corrected his errors
and he gained new respect for the art of flying.
Armbruster’s reassuring voice told him to try again. This time they
sailed along very calmly, the nose on one spot on the horizon, seen
through the glittering whirl of the propeller.
Again came Armbruster’s voice:
“Your left wing is low, Kiwi. Pull it up slightly with your stick.”
Here was another thing for him to watch out for!
At the end of a quarter of an hour they had gone a long distance from
their friends and Armbruster said:
“I’ll turn the plane around and then we’ll fly back.”
As Kiwi felt his instructor take over the controls he let them go, and
the plane swung around in a small arc. Then the voice came:
“Now, Kiwi, take me home.”
On the way back Kiwi practised again, only once getting into
difficulties when he got the plane into that alarming zigzagging.
They made several trips to distant points and back again. Then
Armbruster said, “We’ll land now and take a rest.” And Kiwi confessed to
himself that a rest from this concentration would be most welcome.
As they landed and taxied up to the group, several called out to know
how the pupil was making out. Kiwi was elated to hear Armbruster say:
“The boy is good. A little heavy on the controls, but we’ll have him
flying in no time.”
Dad grinned at him as he climbed from his seat and gave him an approving
pat as he came over to where Dad and Jack were standing with Thorne.
After a few minutes’ rest, and his instructor had had a smoke, they went
up again.
Kiwi practised once more on this simple business of keeping the plane
straight and on an even keel. Then Armbruster’s voice came:
“We’ll try a turn—a turn to the right—that’s an easy one. Now, keeping
your hands and feet lightly on the controls, you feel what they do while
I make this gradual turn.”
And while he was doing it, Armbruster repeated several times:
“A little bit of bank and a little bit of rudder—round she goes. Now you
try it. Pull the stick slowly over to the right till your wings bank up;
then when you have enough bank, pull the stick back to the center and at
the same time push your rudder slightly to the right.”
The plane swung around dizzily.
Armbruster’s voice came through the phones: “Ah, you used a little too
much rudder. It skidded that time. Now we’ll try another one.”
This time Kiwi’s combination of bank and rudder were more nearly right,
and the plane turned in a more normal fashion.
They flew straight for a while and then tried another turn to the right.
Armbruster now said:
“We’ll try one to the left. That’s harder because the torque of the
propeller tends to pull the plane around to the left if you give it half
a chance. So this time you need less pressure on the left rudder than
you had before on the right.”
Kiwi’s first try was not so bad. But a later one pulled the plane around
with a terrific snap and it commenced to do things that were beyond
Kiwi’s understanding. He felt Armbruster’s hand on the controls as he
rescued him from this predicament, and the old singsong came to him now,
“A little bit of bank, a little bit of rudder—round she goes.”
This flight lasted much longer than the other, and before they had
landed Kiwi was beginning to make smooth and graceful turns in either
direction.
During one of these later turns Kiwi was much startled as his engine
stopped in the middle of one of them, and they seemed to be in
difficulties. Then he noticed that Armbruster had throttled back the
engine, and his clear voice came to Kiwi saying:
“I just wanted you to know what would happen if the engine suddenly
stopped in the midst of one of your turns. You must quickly put on more
bank and more rudder. If you don’t do this in time, you’ll find the
plane out of control. Try a few more turns and I’ll stop the motor in
some of them and you correct for it.”
After a few more minutes of such practice they landed and rejoined the
others.
Kiwi was bubbling over with the excitement of what he had learned and he
had a thousand questions to ask both Dad and Armbruster about his
experiences. They talked it all over and tried to tell him what he must
do in each emergency.
If the engine stopped unexpectedly when flying straight, he must
instinctively push the stick forward, keep the nose down, and keep his
flying speed. If it stopped during a turn, he must rudder into the turn
and keep his flying speed. Always he must do these things instinctively
when the motor failed.
Dad and Armbruster and Jack all had stories to tell of some spectacular
experience when motors failed at crucial moments in the air. Always when
in the air the pilot’s ear is attuned to the steady beat of the motor
and he listens for its first missing stroke.
Another young flyer had joined the group and was listening interestedly
to the talk about failing motors. During a lull in the conversation he
said:
“Failing motors in the air are often bad enough, I grant you, but during
the war a failing motor on solid ground turned out to be much more
tragic for me.
“I had just returned to my squadron from a two weeks’ stay in England
and was talking to old friends and getting accustomed to the new faces
in the mess. The other pilots were admiring the new outfit I had
bought—shiny new field boots that I had had made at that little shop in
Oxford opposite Exeter College, my whipcord breeches that were the pride
of a maker on the Haymarket in London, while my tunic came from Regent
street—when an orderly came up and handed me a slip of paper. It
requested me to report to the Major at once.
“I hurried over to the squadron office to my commanding officer. He
looked up when I entered and said:
“‘I know you are just back from leave and may not have your bearings
yet, but the people at the Wing Headquarters have just given me a job
which is in your special line. You have done it so many times before
that you should have no trouble this time. We have another spy to land
back of the lines tonight, and since Gathergood is gone, you are the
only man I have who can do the job. Here on this map is the location
where you must land this fellow, and he’ll be here ready to start with
you at eleven-thirty. I’ll have the Sergeant-Major get a good machine in
readiness for you.’
“There was nothing for me to do but accept this doubtful honor. Landing
spies back of the lines was no child’s play, as you know. If caught,
your uniform was no protection. You, too, were classed as a spy and met
a spy’s fate.
“However, as it was then only nine-thirty I went back to the mess and
had a rubber of bridge before word came that my spy had arrived. I
hurried over to the hangar, and as it was a warm night did not stop for
a flying suit. I wrapped a muffler around my neck, slipped into my
helmet and goggles, and climbed into the machine which the mechanics had
all ready with the motor started.
[Illustration]
“My passenger was already in the rear seat. I had no time to talk to
him. He gave me a jaunty little wave with his hand and then slipped down
low in the cockpit out of the way of the wind from the propeller. He
looked like any middle-aged French peasant that one might meet on the
road.
“Almost automatically I taxied down the field and took off. As I came
across the hangars and swung over toward the direction of the lines, I
saw that the lights in the hangars were being switched off and knew that
all would be darkness there until it was time for my return.
“The motor hummed sweetly and I began looking for landmarks. There was
no moon and the earth was a black smudge beneath me. I crossed the lines
at a great height and could just discern the Lys River as a dim streak
in the inky blackness. There were a few star-shells coming up from the
direction of the lines, and here and there an occasional flash of
artillery fire. It was a quiet night in this particular sector. A few
miles to one side two searchlights were groping aimlessly across the
sky. All seemed serene and peaceful up aloft.
“Shutting off my motor so that the propeller was just slowly turning
over, I started on a long glide through the darkness. Leaning over the
side I tried to pick up the little village that was to be my brief
stopping place.
“Lower and lower we slipped through the still air. For a few moments I
was a little confused, but upon switching on the light on my instrument
board and consulting my map, I located a particular road that led
through a large forest. By this time my spy was also leaning far over
the side, and as we came lower he pointed out the field we must land in.
“It crossed my mind as we were getting low over the trees that I should
have opened up the engine for a few seconds to keep it warm. A long dive
such as we had just made was apt to cool it to the point where it might
not pick up again when I needed it. But there was no time for that now.
We were too low and the noise of it might arouse troops that happened to
be in the vicinity. Sideslipping into the field, I straightened out just
in time, and we came to a stop beside a fringe of trees.
“My passenger lost no time in getting out. He was just clambering over
the side with a parting ‘Au revoir,’ when the motor and my heart-beats
stopped at the same time.
“I explained to him rapidly in a low voice that he must turn the
propeller over for me to start the motor again. He was willing enough
but unaccustomed to such work, and he was not able to swing the
propeller hard enough to do the trick.
“Unhooking my belt I jumped out. I had tried twice to turn it over when
we heard the pounding thud of heavy boots on the road. It meant that we
were discovered. Evidently soldiers in the neighborhood had heard the
sing of the wires as we glided into the field.
“The spy said, ‘Be quick! Or they’ll stop you!’
“Swinging frantically on the propeller I tried twice again. But the
engine refused to start. We could hear the crashing of underbrush as
they approached, and without more ado the spy touched my arm and said,
‘Follow me!’
“We darted into thick woods and then through a clearing just as our
pursuers discovered the plane. They must have halted to examine it, and
thus gave us time to cover a lot more ground. The spy seemed familiar
with the territory for he swung into a path through the forest which led
to another road. We could hear the searching party floundering about in
the woods, but they did not seem to know which direction we had taken.
“Cautiously following the road we kept well in the shadows and came at
last to a stone farmhouse surrounded by a wall. The spy motioned me into
the darkness of a doorway and told me to wait. He rapped cautiously at
the gate with a peculiar knock, and sometime later a man’s voice
answered him. The two men held a long consultation, and with many
gestures seemed to be pointing out a direction.
“Then the spy came back to me and explained briefly that it was too
dangerous to stay there—it was too close to where the plane had
landed—and that we must make our way to a certain house about three
miles farther on.
“Then began a nerve-wracking walk through roads and lanes. At one place
we made a wide detour to avoid going through a town. If only I had worn
my flying suit it would have covered my uniform and made it a little
more difficult for the chance passerby to recognize me as an enemy.
“At last we came within sight of the farmhouse, which was to be my home.
I was left in the shadow of a wayside shrine while the spy went ahead to
make preparations for my reception.
[Illustration]
“He came back in a few minutes with word that the coast was clear. I was
taken into the white kitchen and introduced to the Belgian peasant and
his wife and their son. He was about Kiwi’s size and regarded me shyly.
They talked together for a long while, in what I took to be Flemish,
apparently trying to decide how best to conceal me. The peasant and his
wife seemed apprehensive, and the spy informed me that they were fearful
that at any moment the Germans might come to search the house.
“A peasant outfit such as the farmer wore was given me. I discarded my
uniform and field boots and slipped my feet into heavy wooden shoes such
as they wore.
“Another consultation took place and a decision was finally reached. My
precious uniform was to be destroyed! And as I sat sadly before the
fireplace, my boots, breeches, tunic—one after the other—went up in
flames. For only two days had I swanked about in them—and now they were
gone.
“Realizing that I could speak nothing but English, which was entirely
unsuited to my present rôle, they pondered a long time on how to
overcome this difficulty. The spy, who must have been quick-witted or he
never could have succeeded at his profession, solved it by painting the
lower half of my face with iodine and binding it up with dirty cloths.
He explained to me that if the house should be searched and I should be
questioned, I was to indicate to the Germans that I had had an accident
to my jaw and was unable to speak.
“There were several narrow escapes for me during the weeks that
followed.
“The spy left just before dawn with the comforting word that he would be
back for me in a few days’ time and conduct me through the lines.
“The days dragged into weeks, the weeks into months, and still I stayed
on in this little farmhouse and watched our fellows flying overhead,
ceaselessly bombing an innocent patch of woods which they probably
thought contained an ammunition dump.
“Eventually I got through the lines and back home and was able to set
them right about that harmless strip of woods. But you can easily
understand why I feel so strongly about engines failing, even on the
ground.”
The whole crowd laughed at the mournful face of the young fellow who had
just told the story. He looked as though he were living over again the
loss of his precious new uniform.
During this recital Kiwi had been stretched out on his back gazing up at
the cloud-flecked, blue sky above him. A pilot in a very old type of
plane had been doing the most spectacular flying just over his head
during the whole story. He was dressed in ordinary clothes, had no
helmet, but flew with a peak-cap worn backwards. Diving vertically, he
pulled out just over their heads, grinning at them as he did so. Then he
climbed straight up until he was a tiny speck in the blue and repeated
his hair-raising dive.
Kiwi marveled at this performance. Never had he seen a plane stay in a
vertical dive so long and come out of it unharmed. And this flyer seemed
to get so much satisfaction from the maneuver and repeated it so many
times that Kiwi finally inquired who he was.
Thorne told him that the pilot was one of the best of the early American
flyers, who had been well known for this particular maneuver—and even
here he was famous for it.
They watched him as he at last tired of flying and came down to rest on
a solid-looking cloud above their heads. He got out of his machine,
waved to those far below, and stretched out on the soft surface of the
cloud for a nap.
Back home this would have astonished Kiwi, but here he was becoming
accustomed to such things and did not consider it at all queer. Here he
was seeing all sorts of strange things which interested him but had
ceased to bewilder him.
Later on he was to see workshops everywhere, in which inventors were
puzzling and studying over machines that in the other world they had had
no time to develop.
One young fellow provided a great deal of quiet amusement for the others
by exhibiting a large bump on the back of his head, which he proudly
said was developing into a third eye.
Thorne explained to Kiwi that here was another of those war flyers who
had been struck with the idea during the war that an additional eye in
the back of one’s head was absolutely necessary for a flyer; that he had
concentrated all his thought upon it, and that here he felt he would
surely grow one.
Kiwi now became restless and got up to stretch his legs.
Armbruster rose too and said:
“Kiwi, let’s get on with the flying.”
They strolled over to their old plane which, though somewhat battered,
still bore the number on the tail that the Skipper remembered so
well—A-4812.
“Now this time, Kiwi,” Armbruster said, as they resumed their seats, “I
am going to let you take the plane off the ground. Remember, open the
throttle slowly till the engine is running smoothly; then, as the plane
gathers headway, push the stick forward till the tail is off the ground.
As it rolls along and gathers speed, pull the stick back ever so little.
If the plane doesn’t rise, don’t force it but wait till it seems to pick
itself off the ground. Keep a sharp look ahead and be sure and fly
straight. Don’t let it swerve.” Then he added, “All right! Let her go!”
[Illustration]
Kiwi did as he was directed, but was warned a few seconds later, “Don’t
get the tail too high.” And as they were speeding over the ground, “A
little back pressure on the stick,” came through the phones; and then
the plane started to rise. Kiwi’s eyes were glued on the horizon and he
concentrated on keeping the plane in a straight line until the voice
told him it was time to turn.
He swung cautiously around to the right and was pleased to hear
Armbruster’s voice telling him “That’s fine!” They practised turns to
the right and turns to the left, and Armbruster landed the plane two or
three times so that Kiwi could take it off and master that particular
lesson.
They finally landed, for it was getting dark.
[Illustration]
Early the next day Armbruster said:
“Now we’ll start on the landings. I’ll pick out a certain spot for you
to land on, and you must judge your distance just right, throttle back
the motor and glide down. Be sure and keep the nose down so that your
flying speed doesn’t register below fifty-five miles an hour. Then, as
you see the ground approaching, pull back slightly on the stick until
you are flying on a level with the surface and just a few inches above
it. It takes a lot of practice to judge this distance just right. You
will find it’s easier if you look over one side or the other of your
cockpit—whichever is more natural for you, do it that way. Then as you
are gliding along level and just as you feel the plane start to sink,
pull the stick back in your tummy and you’ll land all right.”
Kiwi took the plane off and did a few wide turns to the right and to the
left until he realized he was performing big figure eights in the air.
Then Armbruster said “There!” and pointed to a spot upon which they
should land.
Kiwi’s first try at throttling back was too soon. He felt his instructor
push the throttle forward again. But his next try seemed right and he
glided down to make a landing. He watched, fascinated, as they drew
closer to the ground, flattened out too soon, and discovered that they
were flying level at least twelve feet off the surface.
Armbruster put the engine on. They climbed up and came back and tried
again. This time Kiwi judged his distance better. They glided in,
bounced a bit, but came to a stop with no damage done. Again and again
this was repeated until Kiwi had learned to gauge the distance
perfectly.
Stopping in the middle of the field, Armbruster called to him that now
they would change places. Kiwi knew this meant that Armbruster trusted
him. He took his cushions and moved into the rear cockpit. They took off
again.
He made several landings from the back seat, and then his instructor
said:
“There’s a few more tricks you’ve got to learn, Kiwi. I’m going to take
you up and put you in a tail-spin and you must get out of it.”
Before going up again his instructor explained to him that all his turns
up to this point had been gradual ones in which the control surfaces
acted in a normal manner.
“To make a sharp turn,” Armbruster further explained, “it is necessary
to increase the bank to keep the plane from skidding out sidewise. In
banking sharply, where the wings tip up until they are vertical, the
action of the elevator and the rudder is reversed. That is, you now use
your elevator as a rudder and your rudder as an elevator.
[Illustration]
“You must get this firmly fixed in your mind, Kiwi, for it is very
important. If you don’t, when you come to make a vertical turn and find
the nose dropping, you will instinctively pull back the stick which, in
the vertical position of the plane, will not lift the nose. For now the
elevator, acting as a rudder, only makes your turn sharper and the nose
will continue to drop. To correct this you must lift the nose with the
rudder.
“Are you sure you understand this, Kiwi? Starting to make a turn, you
put on a little bit of bank and a little bit of rudder. As you put on
more bank and the wings approach the vertical, the stick is returned to
neutral and you reverse the rudder to keep the nose level, gradually
pulling the stick back to keep you in the turn. That’s the way to make a
vertical turn.
“Now if you do this wrong, and the nose drops and the plane starts to
spin toward the earth, shut off the engine, put your stick and your
rudder neutral, and immediately when they _are neutral_ press the stick
forward so that you will get into a straight dive. The plane will then
be behaving normally and can be pulled out of the dive in the usual
fashion by pulling back gently on the stick and at the same time putting
on the engine.”
After this explanation they went up very high to practise vertical
turns. There were many other planes much higher than they, and
Armbruster called out:
“Kiwi, do you see that little group of tiny specks to the right? That’s
a crowd who are going off on a sight-seeing tour to some other planet.
Next time they go we’ll go with them, for it’s lots of fun. You fly on
and on through space, and the air turns blue and lavender and finally a
clear, yellowish white as you approach the other worlds. The pull of
gravity gets less and less until you feel as light as a feather and your
plane is rocked this way and that by the whirling eddies of air.
[Illustration]
“But now, Kiwi, we must get on with our flying practice.”
Time after time Kiwi got into spins whenever Armbruster’s instructions
as to the turns were not properly followed. But it was not long until he
had become accustomed to the actions of the plane in a tail-spin, and as
they were still very high he was able to pull them out.
Armbruster now felt that he had taught Kiwi enough of the art of flying
for him to fly alone and to feel perfectly confident. They had flown at
times when the air was very bumpy, and although at first it had
frightened Kiwi somewhat, he had soon learned to correct for the bumps
automatically.
Armbruster knew that after a little practice he could teach Kiwi to
loop, which was only a matter of diving the plane until it had attained
speed enough to carry itself over the top of the loop. He knew that Kiwi
would soon learn to keep enough rudder on to prevent him from falling
out of the loop sideways. All the other forms of acrobatics could only
be learned by practice after the fundamental things had been thoroughly
mastered.
As they landed, Armbruster said:
“Taxi the plane in, Kiwi, and we’ll see if Dad will give you a final
test before I send you off solo.”
Rejoining the group who had been watching them, Kiwi’s face was wreathed
in smiles.
Armbruster called out to the Skipper, “How about testing this pupil for
me, Captain?”
Dad shook his head as he said, “I’d rather some one else did. Let Jack
take him and give the final word.”
So Jack put on his helmet and goggles, climbed into the front seat and
called back to Kiwi:
“All right! Take me up for a ride.”
Kiwi took the plane off beautifully, circled both to the right and to
the left, put the plane into a spin and recovered from it, and amply
proved to Jack that he was fit to go up alone. As they came down Jack
called to him:
“You’ll do, Kiwi! Armbruster has done another good job!”
As the plane drew up to where Dad and Armbruster were standing, Jack
stopped the motor and said to Kiwi:
“As soon as the air gets a little quieter I should think you could take
it up alone.”
Here Armbruster cut in, “Don’t you think the boy does very well for the
few lessons he’s had?” And Jack agreed with him.
While other planes overhead swooped and turned against the blue sky,
they gave Kiwi his final instructions. Armbruster told him to take-off,
go to at least five hundred feet before he made any turn, fly around
until he felt perfectly comfortable, and then to shut off his motor and
make his landing; that he ought to make at least five landings before
they could pass on him as a finished pilot.
Then Dad said, “And don’t forget, Kiwi—don’t fly away and leave us, for
we want you back here.”
“I’m ready to fly now,” replied Kiwi, very excited. “Is it all right,
Dad?”
Permission was given, the engine was started, Kiwi’s cushions were
patted into place and his belt buckled.
Armbruster called out, cheerily, “Don’t forget my instructions, Kiwi,
and you’ll show them.”
As Kiwi taxied off by himself the little group cheered him on. Reaching
the middle of the field, he turned into the wind and found a second in
which to wave to those who were watching him. Then, without waiting
further, he pushed forward the throttle and his first solo flight was
on.
Cautiously but perfectly Kiwi took the plane off the ground. He felt a
tremendous elation as he found himself alone in the air at last, in full
command of a plane. Now no one was helping him. This bird of wood and
fabric and metal was his to command.
While Kiwi had been learning to fly he had been watching the birds,
which were present in great numbers, do their flying. Particularly he
had noticed some large black birds, not unlike crows, wheeling and
circling and coming to land amidst the gusty air close to the surface.
They always swung around into the wind when landing, and one of them—his
mind, no doubt, preoccupied by other matters—had flattened out too high
up and came down on his feet with quite a bump, and looked as startled
as Kiwi might have looked in a similar circumstance.
The little group on the ground saw Kiwi soar into the air, and each
lived again his own first solo. They forgot, for the time being, that no
harm could come to him, and hardly a word was spoken as they watched
with bated breath while the plane circled and turned as Kiwi tried out
his skill. No one in that group could help him now. He was “on his own.”
Then Kiwi decided that the time had come for him to attempt his first
landing unaided. He throttled back his motor to make the attempt. Now
was the test!
No strain ever quite equals that of a pupil’s first landing. No matter
who the pupil is, everyone within sight or hearing pauses tense until it
is over. The group stared, fascinated, as young Kiwi glided down,
flattened out a few inches above the surface, and settled down to a
perfect three-point landing.
Kiwi had done it!
A shout went up and they pounded the Skipper on the back as he watched,
almost unbelieving. Kiwi was a pilot! He had mounted into the air alone,
had mastered the air, and had landed beautifully. He was now one of
them—a flyer in his own right, a pilot in that quiet kingdom.
He made several more landings, and then as he taxied back to the group
Armbruster said:
“The name Kiwi doesn’t fit him now, but it will probably stick to him
forever.”
[Illustration]
It was not long before Dad and Jack and Kiwi became accustomed to this
carefree life and made many excursions off into the upper air in the
“Dauntless.”
The moon had always had a great fascination for Kiwi, and on one flight
with Armbruster and some of the others, they soared up to it and landed
on its barren surface. They climbed in and out of the deep hollows of
its dead volcanoes; they explored its caves and the rocky beds of its
dried-up rivers.
They went on numerous excursions to other planets, where sometimes they
landed and exchanged experiences with the strange inhabitants. The
flyers were looked upon as strange adventurers, for on none of these
other planets had the art of flying been developed. But always as they
floated down like a bit of fluff to their own kingdom, they were happy
to be back among their own kind.
And Kiwi began to feel that his place with them was now assured, that he
was one of them—a pilot with wings—a Kiwi in name only.
THE END
EDITOR’S NOTE
_For many weeks the newspapers in and about New York and in the Middle
West carried an advertisement and a request for information. It had been
inserted by order of the captain on one of the big trans-Atlantic
liners. He was holding in trust a silver cigarette case which he wished
to restore to the friends or relatives of Captain Malcolm McBride,
skipper of the plane “Dauntless,” which had completely disappeared while
on a non-stop flight from New York to India._
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[Illustration]
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[Illustration]
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● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text that:
was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_);
was in bold by is enclosed by “equal” signs (=bold=).