A BOY WHO FLEW.
One of the features of winter life at Hampton was the annual bob-sled
races down the steep, long hill outside the town, known as Jones’s Hill.
Other villages on Long Island, notably Huntington, had the same sort of
carnivals, and they were always attended by people from a wide radius
around. Neighboring villages sent teams and sleds to compete for prizes,
and much merry sport resulted. For weeks beforehand the events were
talked about, and sometimes—in the case of a spill—the contestants had
reason to remember the day for weeks afterward. Although the “Bob Sled
Carnival,” as it was called, would not come off till three days after
Christmas, the boys of Hampton were busy over their preparations for
some time before.
“Going to enter a sled this year, Rob?” asked Tubby, one afternoon in
early December, as they were on their way home from the Academy.
“Of course,” rejoined Rob, “there’s that big ten-seater. We might enter
her with an Eagle Patrol team, and race her against a Hawk sled.”
“Bully,” cried Merritt Crawford, “that would be a great scheme.”
“The very thing,” chimed in about a dozen lads, who were walking with
our three boys.
“Why not send a challenge to the Aquebogue fellows?” piped up little Joe
Digby; “they have a patrol over there now—The Wolves, they call
themselves. Maybe they would enter a team against us.”
“I guess they would,” agreed Rob. “I’ll write a challenge to-night.
Let’s see, Howard Major is their leader, isn’t he?”
“That’s right. He’ll be sure to accept, too. Howard steered the
Aquebogue bob-sled last year.”
“Yes, when we let Aquebogue win the cup,” laughed Rob, referring to a
silver cup, the gift of the village boards of six villages, which was
annually contested for. “This year us fellows want to wake up and win it
back.”
“That’s right.”
“That’s the stuff.”
“We’ll do it, too,” several of the lads assured him, as the group came
to a point where they separated and went their several ways. Paul
Perkins had been an interested, if silent, participator in the plans,
but when he found himself alone with his three friends he launched
enthusiastically into a description of the kind of sled with which he
was going to startle the community and their guests at the carnival. The
lad had been spending odd hours over the construction of his winged
glider, and he was pretty certain, he told them, that he had it
perfected.
A visit to the Perkins’s wagon shed resulted in the exhibition of a
business-like looking sled, with a wheel connected to the flexible steel
runners with which to steer. From each side of the contrivance, a pair
of canvas wings, spread over stout frames, extended for a distance of
about ten feet. The frame was made as light as possible, and Paul was
confident the glider would work.
“Tell you what we’ll do,” said Tubby, as they stood regarding the odd
looking contrivance, “there’s a good full moon to-night. We’ll slip out
of the village after supper and try it out on Jones’s Hill.”
It was agreed that this would furnish some amusement and excitement.
Soon the boys were enthusiastically making their arrangements. Paul said
that he could detach the wings and so carry the sled without exciting
undue attention.
“You see, I don’t know if it will work yet,” the young inventor
confessed, “and I don’t want to be the laughing stock of the place in
case a crowd is on hand to see me take a tumble.”
“No danger of that,” Merritt assured him. “We’ll sneak round by the back
way up through Cryders Lane and then take that path through the scrub
oak to the top of the hill.”
Like so many conspirators the lads met at Paul Perkins’s after the
evening meal, and each bearing a portion of the load, they set out for
the long, steep grade down which the test was to be made.
“I heard in the village to-night that Freeman Hunt and his crowd have a
big bob they are going to enter for the cup race,” said Tubby, as they
walked along.
“Too bad there is no way of keeping them out. They’ll be sure to be up
to something crooked,” commented Merritt. “However, as it’s free for
all, I suppose we can’t do anything.”
“Not a thing,” rejoined Rob. “By the way, Paul, did you hear anything
further from the lawyer in Washington, since you received his dispatch
telling you that Hunt’s message was, just as I supposed, a forgery?”
“Only that the outlook is very favorable,” was Paul’s response. “He
says—it sounds like a fairy tale,” he interjected with a note of
apology—“he said that if the government took it they would give five
thousand dollars for the exclusive right to use the machine.”
“Bully!” cried Rob. “I guess that would set our friend Hunt back a peg
or two if he heard of it.”
They met no one on their way to the hill, as the night was chilly and
they stuck to their little-frequented route. The moonlight lit up the
steep descent and made it as bright as day almost, throwing here and
there sharp, black shadows on the white snow. It was an ideal night for
sledding and the boys felt their pulses beat with excitement as they
adjusted the wings and prepared the glider, of which so much was
expected, for its initial flight.
At last the wings were firmly bolted on, and fixed in position with set
screws. In addition, piano wires leading to eyelets in the frame of the
sled, and which acted as wing-braces, were utilized. When this was
complete, each wing was as rigid as steel, presenting a slightly curved
surface toward the front. They were, in fact, closely modeled on the
wings Paul’s observant eyes had noted on the army airship.
“Now, then, who is to have the honor of the first flight on the greatest
invention of the age?”
Rob laughed as he gazed about him.
“Don’t all speak at once,” said Merritt.
“Any one can have my turn,” ejaculated Tubby, with deep conviction.
“Why, I’m to be the first to try it, of course,” spoke up Paul, boldly.
“I’m lightest, and anyhow, an inventor ought not to risk anybody’s bones
but his own on his freak ideas.”
“Suppose we take it half way down the hill for a starter,” suggested
Rob, “then we can see if it’s going to work or tip over, without running
such a risk of a smash-up.”
Accordingly, the contrivance, looking like a queer bird in the
moonlight, was shoved down the hill to a post about a quarter of a mile
from the bottom.
Paul seated his slight frame upon the craft, bracing his feet against
two projecting iron rests and taking a firm grip of the steering wheel.
“All right?” asked Rob, as the others stood behind, holding detaining
hands upon the vehicle.
“Let her go,” ordered Paul, boldly.
Like a stone from a sling, the sled shot off into the cold, breathless
night. On and on under the stars it flew, its runners grating with a
sharp, musical note on the close-packed snow, for that afternoon there
had been a lot of sleighing on the grade.
“She won’t rise!” exclaimed Tubby. “She’s like me. Built for a career
close to the ground.”
“Hold on. I’m not so sure about that,” exclaimed Rob the next instant.
“Look!”
As he spoke a strange thing happened. The sled seemed to rise from the
earth as if drawn upward by some invisible force. Even at that distance
they could see Paul’s body shift as he strove to maintain his balance on
the contrivance.
Up and up the strange bird-like craft climbed, till it was about ten
feet above the ground. It skimmed along for a hundred feet or so and
then came down to earth again with a bump that unseated the
inexperienced rider and sent him tumbling head first into a snow bank.
But, as the others came running down the hill, Paul extricated himself
and gave a shrill cheer.
[Illustration: Up and up the strange bird-like craft climbed, till it
was about ten feet above the ground.]
“Hooray, fellows! She works!” he cried. “It’s a success.”
“It’s a success as a dumping machine, I’ll admit,” sniffed Tubby.
“Just wait till I put some springs on to take up the jolt when she lands
and she’ll settle like a bit of thistledown,” Paul assured him.
“If she doesn’t settle you first,” put in Merritt, rather doubtfully.
“Anybody want a ride?” asked Paul, as he prepared to tow the craft back
to the top of the hill again.
“No, I haven’t made my will yet and I can’t afford to risk the legal
complications which might ensue in case of my death,” responded Tubby,
grandiloquently.
“I haven’t decided what sort of stuff I’ll have them write on my
tombstone,” chimed in Merritt, “so you can count me out.”
“You’re in a blue funk. That’s what’s the matter,” laughed Rob. “If you
want to take a chance on having your machine smashed up I’ll take her
down, Paul,” he went on.
“Hooray for the hero,” scoffed Tubby.
“Adios,” said Merritt, placing his hand over his heart in an affected
attitude, and using some of the Spanish he had picked up in the West,
“we’ll gather up the remains to-morrow—mañana.”
“Banana, you mean,” chuckled Paul, “and it’ll just be as easy as eating
one for Rob to ride the Pegasus.”
“Oh, you’ve christened it already, have you?” inquired Rob.
“That’s the only name I could think of,” answered Paul. “Pegasus was a
winged horse, you know.”
“And poets have been riding the poor critter to death ever since,”
chimed in Tubby, with a snicker.
Rob decided that he would try his experimental ride from the summit of
the hill. From what he had seen, it would be no very difficult task to
control the winged sled. He was, in fact, so anxious to be off on his
initial voyage that he could hardly wait till they reached the summit of
the moonlit hill.
At last, however, everything was ready for the start.
“Whoa, Peggy!” cautioned Tubby, as with Merritt he hung on to the rear
of the sled, while Paul gave Rob some final instructions.
“Balance her just like you would a bicycle,” he said, “and when you feel
her rising don’t resist, but just take it easy. Look out for the
landing, though. It’ll jolt the wishbone out of you.”
“I expect to get a tumble,” Rob assured him.
“Guess I’m all right,” he added the next minute, straining his eyes to
make sure the hill ahead was clear.
Suddenly he was off, rushing through the frosty air at an exhilarating
clip. All at once he felt a queer, rising movement, and knew that the
winged sled was starting to spread its pinions. Far behind him he heard
a faint cheer. Like a bicycle rider, Rob balanced a tipping tendency in
either direction by swaying his body.
“Whee-e-e-e-e-e-e!” he yelled in sheer delight at the wonderful
sensation as he clove the atmosphere. Above him the frosty stars
twinkled. Beneath was the long, white hill, chequered vividly here and
there with inky splashings of shadow.
Suddenly, just ahead as it seemed, and slightly below him, there came a
loud shout. Rob was startled, and for an instant he allowed his
attention to waver. Like a flash the machine tilted, and with the boy
still clinging desperately to its careening form, the Pegasus shot
staggeringly downward through the air, driving straight at four dark
forms that had just come into view at the foot of the hill.
“Look out!” was all Rob had time to yell before the marvelous flying
sled was ploughing at top speed into their midst.