NED INVENTS SOMETHING.
"What are you so busy over, my lad?" inquired Lieutenant De Frees one
morning, stopping in front of the Dreadnought Boys' hangar.
Ned looked up from the sheet of paper over which he had been poring. It
was covered with figures and geometrical scrawlings made by a stumpy
lead pencil.
The lad was a bit abashed. Herc was busy tuning up his aeroplane, and
Ned, by this time, should have been busy on his machine, for it was a
clear, calm day, ideal for a flight. But Ned had not yet even donned
his aviation togs. Instead, he had been putting in the best part of an
hour on his figuring, bending over it with a puckered brow. A moment
before the officer had poked his head in at the door, the boy had
started up with a glad cry:
"Herc, I've got it!"
"Catching?" inquired Herc, as he tightened the turnbuckle of a slack
stay-wire.
"I hope so," laughed Ned. "I hope it proves catching enough for Uncle
Sam to adopt. You see, an aeroplane fitted with pontoons----"
"Oh, choke it off. I've heard it all a hundred times," began Herc, and
then, dropping his bantering expression, the freckled lad went on:
"It's a great thing, Ned, not a doubt of it. But are you sure you've
got it at last?"
"Certain sure," smiled Ned confidently; "it was to attain cubic
capacity, combined with strength and lightness, that bothered me. But I
think I've figured it out now so that it will work."
So saying, he had resumed his calculations and had been engaged on them
but a few seconds when the interruption occurred.
"Why, it's an idea I've been working out for some time, sir," said
Ned modestly, in reply to the officer's question. "I'd rather like to
have your opinion on it, sir, if it isn't too much to ask. You see,
it's a scheme to attach pontoons to an aeroplane, making the machine
practicable for both air and water. Inasmuch as our experiments are to
select a naval type, it seemed to me that----"
"A machine that could fly and swim, too, if necessary, would be a great
thing," broke in the officer enthusiastically. "Well, my boy, if you
really have such an idea in practicable shape, I think I can encourage
you to hope great things for it. Any one of a hundred manufacturers
would be willing to buy your secret and pay you well for it, too."
Ned flushed. A flicker of something akin to indignation crossed his
face.
"If it's any good, sir," he said quietly, "I intended that our navy
should have it."
The officer brought down his hand with a hearty slap on Ned's broad
shoulder.
"Good for you," he said. "I spoke as I did to test your motives in
working on this invention, and I am not disappointed in you. If you
will visit me at my quarters to-night, we'll talk more of the matter."
"Thank you, sir," rejoined Ned, flushing gratefully, and his eyes
shining, "at what time, sir?"
"About nine o'clock. I've some friends coming over this evening and
shall not be at liberty before that time."
Ned saluted, and Herc likewise clicked his heels together and raised
his hand, as the officer left the hangar to resume his morning tour of
inspection.
The tall form of their superior had hardly vanished from the doorway
before Herc, who had turned to search for some tool, gave a sudden
sharp outcry.
There was a small window, high up in the rear of the shed, which had
been left open for ventilation. As Herc turned, he was as certain as he
was that it was daylight, that he had seen a face vanish quickly from
the casement. Its owner had evidently dropped from the opening through
which he had chosen to spy on the Dreadnought Boys.
"What's up, Herc?" asked Ned, as he caught his chum's smothered
exclamation.
"Why--why," exclaimed Herc, "I could be almost certain that I saw the
face of Chance vanish from that window as I turned round."
"Eavesdropping, eh?"
"Looks like it. I guess he saw Lieutenant De Frees come in here and
remain longer than ordinarily. It must have aroused their curiosity."
"What do you mean by 'they'?"
"Merritt and Chance, of course. You know how much love they bear us. I
guess they felt afraid we were stealing a march of some kind on them.
"It's a mean trick!" continued Herc. "If I'd only caught him before
I'd--I'd have bust his face."
"Let's go round to the back of the shed. We can soon find out if anyone
was really there, or if your imagination played you a trick."
Herc readily agreed. He was fairly boiling with anger. But, on
investigation, the fresh paint at the rear of the shed proved not to be
scratched, as must have been the case had any one clambered up to the
window.
"Looks to me as if you're seeing things," teased Ned.
"Does look rather like it," confessed Herc. "It seems as if--hullo,
what--what's that? I guess that's how he reached the window without
scratching the paint."
He pointed to a short ladder, evidently left behind by the workmen
who had fitted up the hangars. It lay in some tall grass, a short
distance from where the Dreadnought Boys stood. A hasty attempt seemed
to have been made to hide it, but if this had been the case, it was
unsuccessful.
"Just as I thought," declared Herc, after a minute. "The grass here is
freshly trampled by the chap who threw the ladder back."
Ned was silent a minute. Then he spoke.
"I wonder how much they overheard?" he said slowly.
"All our conversation, I guess, if they arrived in time. Why?"
"Because I wanted to keep my pontoon idea secret till I'd tried it out.
It isn't exactly for general publication--yet."
Herc seemed to catch a deeper meaning in the words.
"You're thinking of that chap who's been snooping around here for the
last week posing as a newspaper photographer?" he asked quickly.
"Yes. I'm convinced, somehow, that he is nothing of the sort. For
one thing, he's far too curious about the mechanical details of
the aeroplanes, and the results of the experiments so far as we've
conducted them. Another thing is, that he seems unusually well supplied
with money, and he also appears to be a man of far greater ability than
his supposed job would indicate."
"Gee whillakers!" gasped Herc. "You're not after thinking he's a
foreign spy?"
"That's just what I am," rejoined Ned firmly.
"He won't get much information here."
"Not if he depended on most of us for it. But there's Chance and
Merritt. It's a mean thing to say, Herc, but I wouldn't trust those
fellows any farther than I could see them, and not so far as that."
"We-el!" whistled Herc, with huge assumed surprise, "you don't say so?
I was always under the delusion that they were honest, above-board
sports, who wouldn't do a mean thing for all the wealth on Wall Street."
But just then the assembly bugle rang out sharply, summoning the aero
squad to its labors. The lads hastened to get their machines out on
the field. As they trundled them forth, assisted by some of the men
employed about the grounds for such jobs, Ned's machine almost collided
with a short, rather thick-set man, with a huge pair of moustaches
and luxuriant blonde hair. The latter hung in a tangle from under a
battered derby hat. The rest of the man's garments were in keeping
with his disreputable head-gear. They consisted of a long, and very
greasy-looking frock coat, a pair of checked trousers, badly frayed at
the bottoms, broken boots and a soiled shirt and collar.
[Illustration: Sigmund Muller, free-lance photographer, bore an
indescribable air of being something other than he pretended to be.]
Over his back was strapped a black leather box, which evidently
contained a camera, for under his arm he bore a folded tripod. But,
despite his disreputable appearance, Sigmund Muller, free-lance
photographer, as he termed himself, bore an indescribable air of being
something other than he pretended to be. Ned was skilled in reading
human faces, and the first time he had set eyes on Herr Muller, he had
decided that under the battered exterior and slouching gait lay hidden
a keen, lance-like intellect, and an unscrupulous daring. The lad was
impressed with the conviction that here was a man to be reckoned with.
As the advancing aeroplane almost knocked him down, Herr Muller
jumped nimbly to one side. Then he assumed what was meant to be a
free-and-easy sort of manner.
"Chust for dot," he exclaimed, "I dakes me a picdgure of your
aeromoplane. Yes--no?"
He began to unsling his camera, but Ned stopped him in a flash.
"Don't bother yourself," he said sharply. "You recollect that I told
you the other day that it was against the rules to take pictures of any
of the aeroplanes on the grounds."
"Undt I voss ordered off, too," chuckled Herr Muller, without
displaying the slightest trace of irritation, "budt, you see, mein
young friendt, I coom back--yah."
"Do you mind standing out of the way?" cut in Herc suddenly. "I'd hate
to run you down, but if you stand in the road any longer I'll have to."
Once more Herr Muller jumped nimbly aside.
"Dot'll be all righdt," he said amicably, "go on! Go ahead! Some day
you break your neck, undt den I take picdgure of you--yes, no?"
He fixed the freckled-faced boy with a glance as he spoke. Herc,
despite his usual equanimity, felt a shudder run through him, as he
encountered the look. It seemed to penetrate like the white-hot flame
of a blow-pipe.
"Whoof!" he exclaimed, as he hastened along, "that chap's about as
pleasant a thing to have around as a rattlesnake. He gives me the
shivers."
As the Dreadnought Boys hastened to the assembling place, Merritt and
Chance, with their machines, emerged. They passed close to Herr Muller,
and as they went by he overheard every word they said.
"So Ned Strong is trying to sneak into favor again, eh?" snarled
Merritt, who had just been listening to Chance's account of what he had
overheard at the hangar window.
"Yes, confound him. I wish we could find some way to put them both out
of business. If it wasn't for them, we'd be----"
A soft touch on Chance's arm interrupted him. He faced round and was
rather startled to see the shambling figure of Sigmund Muller at his
elbow. The man's face bore a peculiar, searching look. Chance felt a
sort of shiver run through him as he faced him. But he shook it off.
"Well, what is it?" he demanded gruffly.
"You were talking about Ned Strong and Herc Taylor and some plans they
had?" said the photographer in quiet tones.
"Why, y-y-y-yes," stammered Chance, rather taken aback. But then, with
a return to his former bravado: "What business have you eavesdropping,
anyhow? What business is it of yours, eh?"
The other paid no attention to this outburst.
"You don't like Ned Strong or Herc Taylor?" he said in the same even
tone.
"Like them," repeated Chance indignantly, "I should say not, I
hate--but what do you want to know for?"
"Because I don't like them either," was the reply. "If you'll meet me
at eight o'clock to-night at the old barn, the other side of the stone
bridge on the Medford Road, I'll have a proposition of interest to make
to you."
"What do you think I am--crazy, as you are?" burst out Chance. "Meet
you to talk moonshine? What could you do?"
"Put you in the way of making a lot of money," was the rejoinder.
"Money!" Chance laughed scornfully. "Why, you're nothing but a hobo
yourself. If you know where there's so much money, why don't you----
Great Scott!"
Herr Muller had quietly thrust his hand into an inside pocket and
withdrawn an immense roll of bills. Chance could see that they were all
of big denominations. But he only got a brief look at the roll, for it
was almost instantaneously replaced.
"Well," said Herr Muller, with a quiet smile tinged with some contempt,
"what do you think of my credentials?"
"They're--they're all right," gasped Chance, still staring as if
fascinated at the shabby figure before him.
"You and your friend will agree, then, that I am worth talking business
with?"
The other thought a minute.
"My name's Chance, and I'll take one," he said, as he turned and
swiftly hastened off. He had lingered a long time and faced a
reprimand. But he took it philosophically, for an idea had occurred to
him, a plan which might be the means of freeing himself and his chosen
companion from what they deemed the drudgery and hardships of the life
of a sailor.