THE NEW OWNERS OF THE BIPLANE
“Well, it is certainly a queer case,” was Joe’s comment, as the five
boys rode home in the Corsen touring car. “Either that man is a bit
off in his head or he has good reasons for keeping out of Mr. Thomas
Mason’s way.”
“He was mightily glad to get that black box back,” returned his
brother. “It must be very valuable.”
“If it is, Joel Runnell ought to take good care of it for him until
he is well,” put in Fred. “Maybe it ought to be placed in some
safe-deposit vault.”
“Oh, I guess it will be safe enough at the Runnell place,” remarked
Link. “They seldom have visitors, especially when Cora is away. Joel is
a fellow who keeps by himself.”
“I think we ought to respect Mr. Akers’s wishes and say nothing to any
outsiders about this whole affair--at least for the present,” continued
the elder Westmore boy. “Of course we can tell our folks, but we’ll
ask them to keep it quiet, too.” And the lads all agreed to do this.
Various were the comments when the five boys got home and told their
story. Neither Mr. Westmore nor Mr. Rush had ever heard of the aged
aviator, and both knew little about Mr. Thomas Mason, excepting that he
was supposed to be a close-fisted business man.
“I think he is interested in several manufacturing companies,” said the
hardware dealer. “But I don’t know what dealings he can have with this
Mr. Akers.”
“My idea of it is that Mr. Akers is one of those inventors who has
allowed his inventions to run away with him,” said Mr. Westmore. “Some
men of that sort go partly insane over their ideas, and that makes them
imagine everybody they have business with is trying to swindle them.”
From Bart the other boys got no news, but when they met Link he had
quite a story to tell.
“As I said before, dad knows quite a little about Mr. Mason,” said the
carpenter’s son. “He never met this Andrew Akers, but he thinks he is
an old man who is interested with Mason in a novelty-manufacturing
company of Springfield. The company had a good deal of trouble once,
and Mason was accused of trying some underhanded work. Dad thinks that
maybe he was trying to get Akers’s stock away from him, or something
like that.”
All of the boys had various chores to do in the morning, but directly
after dinner they met at the Westmore home and traveled by touring car
to Cresco.
“How is he?” was Joe’s question, when Joel Runnell came to the door of
the cottage to let them in.
“He’s putty weak,” was the old hunter’s reply. “He got shook up more’n
he thought for, I reckon.”
“Can we see him?” asked Harry.
“Oh, yes, he’s been a-askin’ for you boys several times.”
All of the lads entered the house. They found Andrew Akers propped up
in bed. He looked pale and weak. But he gave them a faint smile and
insisted upon shaking hands all around.
“You boys were very good to me yesterday, and I’ve not forgotten it,”
he said. “If you hadn’t come to my assistance--you and Mr. Runnell--I’m
afraid I might have died. And then you got my box, too. That was worth
much to me.”
“Mr. Akers, don’t you wish us to place the box in some bank for you
until you get well?” asked Joe.
“No! no! I’ll take care of the box, don’t worry about that. I had some
money in a bank once and the bank closed and I lost all but ten per
cent. of it. No, I’ll look after my box. I’m going to hide it where
nobody can find it.” And for the moment the face of the aged aviator
took on a cunning look.
“Are you going to stay here?” asked Fred.
“Yes, until I am perfectly well. I have made the necessary arrangements
with Mr. Runnell, and I find he is a good nurse and a fine cook. I’d
rather have him around than any women folks, or trained nurses, or
doctors.”
“Can we do anything for you?” asked Bart.
“I don’t think you can.”
“Send any letters, or telegrams, or anything like that?” put in the
carpenter’s son.
“No, I wish to send word to no one. It would do no good, for, as I told
you yesterday, my relatives are too far off to aid me. I know that
under Mr. Runnell’s care I shall get along very well.”
“What would you like done with your flying machine?” asked Joe.
“Didn’t I tell you yesterday that I never wanted to see it again!”
cried Andrew Akers. “I am through with aviation, and have taken a
vow never to go up in a flying machine again. It was foolish for me
to take it up, at my time in life. Aviation is meant for a younger
generation. I said whoever found the biplane could have it.”
“Joe and Harry found it,” said Fred.
“Then it is theirs--if they want it.”
“Oh, we were all together!” cried Joe.
“Of course we were!” added Harry, who wanted no benefit his chums could
not share.
“But, Mr. Akers, that biplane is worth money,” insisted Joe. “You ought
not to give it away.”
“It is my property and I can do as I please with it. The machine, with
the numerous experiments I have made with it and in it, cost me several
thousands of dollars. But if I was to offer it for sale, stuck up there
in the trees, as you say, what would I get for it? Next to nothing. The
engine might bring a hundred dollars or so, and that’s all. Now I want
to reward you boys for what you did for me, so if you are willing to
accept the biplane, supposing we let it go at that?”
“We didn’t expect any reward--at least, I didn’t,” said Harry.
“Nor I,” came from each of the others.
“But I want to do something,” insisted Andrew Akers. “I’d give you some
money, but I have very little with me--only enough to pay my expenses
here. I can afford to give you the biplane--and if you don’t want to
use it--and I suppose you don’t--you can take it apart and sell it, and
divide the proceeds. That’s fair, isn’t it, boys?”
“We don’t want to rob you,” murmured Fred.
“It is no robbery, my boy. The biplane is yours, to do with as you
please,” answered the aged man. “Oh, don’t think I can’t afford to give
it away,” he went on, with a faint smile. “I am fairly well off, and
this black box of mine----” He stopped short. “Never mind that. The
flying machine is yours, it belongs equally to the five of you. Sell
it, or use it, as you please. But if you use it, take care that you
don’t have a tumble, as I did!”
“Well, if you want us to take it----” began Harry.
“I do--I insist upon it. Mr. Runnell, have you ink and a sheet of
paper?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. One of you boys write what I dictate,” said Andrew Akers.
And a few minutes later a paper was drawn up, stating that the biplane,
A. A. A., now located in the woods back of Cresco, was the free and
clear property of Andrew A. Akers and that he hereby gave the flying
machine to the five boys outright, mentioning each by name. This paper
the aged aviator signed, and he insisted that Joel Runnell be a
witness to his signature. Then he handed the paper to Joe.
“Now I feel better,” he said, with a faint smile. “I’ve gotten rid of
a property I never want to see or hear of again, and I have given you
lads something of a reward for what you did for me. Later on, I shall
reward Mr. Runnell also.”
All of the boys thanked the aged man for his kindness. Then, seeing
that he was growing tired, they withdrew, promising to call again, to
see how he was progressing.
“I’ll be glad to see you,” answered Andrew Akers. “But promise me one
thing. Don’t mention that biplane. I want to forget it entirely and
turn my attention to inventions that are more profitable.” And each of
the lads agreed to do as he desired.
As the boys filed out of the cottage and entered the touring car they
looked at each other with eyes full of anticipation. But not a word was
said until they were on the road once more.
“Just to think, that flying machine is ours!” cried Harry.
“My, but won’t we have some gay old times with it!” added Fred.
“Provided we can learn to run it,” put in Joe.
“And our folks will let us try it,” came from Link.
“It may not be in condition to run,” said Bart, slowly. “The canvas
planes were torn, and one wheel bent, and the engine may be broken.
Besides, I--er--I don’t know if I want to go up or not,” he added,
slowly. “It might be safer if we could sell the thing and get an auto
with the money--now we’ve got to give this machine back to Mr. Corsen.”
“Oh, let’s try to fly it--it will be barrels of fun!” cried Harry,
enthusiastically. “Why, see how you could skim through the air--just
like a bird!”
“And come down as Mr. Akers did, or maybe harder.”
“Now, Bart, don’t be a wet blanket,” pleaded Fred. “I know you can go
up, even if you are fat. Why, I’m fat myself. All a fellow has got to
do is to learn how to manipulate the rudders and run the engine, and
fly where he pleases. I was reading all about it last night, in an aero
magazine.”
“Humph! much you know about it, Fred Rush! Do you know that sooner or
later nearly all the well-known aviators lose their lives? Why, there
was----”
“Drop it, Bart!” interrupted Joe. “If you don’t want to fly, you don’t
have to. We’ll see how the machine looks and acts first. Maybe all of
us will want to sell it. If not, and you want to get rid of your share
in it, we’ll buy you out.”
“Not much, you won’t buy me out! If you want to keep the biplane, well
and good. I think it belongs to Joe and Harry, anyway, since they found
it.”
“So do I,” added Link and Fred, quickly.
“No, it belongs to all of us,” replied Joe, just as quickly, and Harry
nodded to show that he agreed with his brother.
Even though they might be late in returning home, the boys could not
resist the temptation to run up to Owl Lake and then walk over to where
the biplane rested among the trees. They found that the machine had
settled a little, but otherwise was as they had left it.
“We’ll have some job getting it out of here,” observed the older
Westmore boy. “We’ll have to bring up some rope and tackle, and maybe
take the machine apart.”
“Let us come up to-morrow early,” said Harry. “I don’t think it’s safe
to leave the machine here long. Somebody else might try to take it
away, or a wind storm might come up and damage it.”
“We can get the tackle at my father’s carpenter shop,” said Link. “He
isn’t using it now. And we can bring along a couple of axes, to chop
off the tree limbs that are in the way.”
All of the boys climbed up in the trees to get a better look at the
biplane. Now that it was their property they felt quite proud of their
possession. They spent so much time looking the machine over that they
did not get home until long after the supper hour.
“Well, I don’t know about this,” said Mr. Westmore, when he heard the
story his sons had to tell. “I don’t see what you can do with the
machine, excepting to try to sell it.”
“We want to learn to fly in it,” cried Harry, eagerly.
“Fly in it?” screamed his sister Laura. “Oh, Harry!”
“No! no!” burst out Mrs. Westmore, firmly. “I can never allow that!
Why, you might fall and kill yourselves! You mustn’t attempt it!” And
she shook her head vigorously.