THE AVIATION MEET
The two craft of the air came down together--Joe Strong looking like
some weird bird, encased as he was in the cage of the _Bat_, the
other in the more familiar shape of the ordinary balloon.
Joe had perfect control over his machine, and could steer himself
wherever he wanted to go, now checking his descent by making the
wings flap up and down, as a gull does when hovering over the water,
again darting to one side or the other, following the drifting of the
balloon, for the big gas bag had struck a lower stratum of air that
was in more rapid motion than the upper region.
“Keep letting out the gas!” cried Joe to the man who held the white
cord in his hand. “But watch yourself when you get nearer the earth.”
“And thank goodness we _are_ getting back to earth!” fervently
exclaimed one of the woman. “Oh! I thought I should never see it
again. How did you ever get that machine, young man, to come to save
us?”
“Oh, I use it in the circus,” Joe explained.
Talking could easily be carried on, as there was no sound from the
balloon, and Joe’s motors, running at low speed, made only a slight
humming sound. Besides, the upper air was a good carrier of voices.
Joe looked down at the crowd below. It was wildly excited, as was
made evident by the running about and the pointing upward of the men,
women and children. They were following the balloon, which was now
drifting some distance away from the place where it had been tethered.
“They see us! They’re waving to us!” cried a young lady. “I can see
my mother!”
“Yes, I told her I’d get you back safe,” said Joe, guessing that this
was the daughter of the woman who had made such frantic appeals to
him.
The young aviator kept watch of the man who had hold of the gas
valve cord. Though the lad did not know much about balloons he had
a natural mechanical sense, and his work in the air on his wings
of steel had made him a good judge of distance and had given him
the ability to calculate accurately the time needed for aerial
evolutions. He noted how far the balloon was above the earth, and
called to the man:
“Open it a little wider now, and hold it open until I tell you to let
it close.”
“All right,” answered the man. He and the others seemed to place all
their dependence on Joe.
There was a rush of gas from the opened valve, and the balloon went
down so suddenly, and for such a distance, that the women screamed.
“You’re all right!” called Joe, who was following closely. “Close the
valve!” he shouted to the man.
A release of the cord caused the valve to close of itself, for
it was operated by a spring. The balloon stopped falling, but it
was now so near the ground that many ready and eager hands could
reach up and almost grasp the edge of the basket. It went down
farther, and in another moment the thoroughly frightened, but now
relieved, passengers were climbing out, with various expressions and
exclamations.
“No more balloons for me!”
“Me either! I never want to see one.”
“I never thought we’d get back to earth again.”
“I almost fainted when I found we were going up.”
“Well, I’ve been in some tight places,” said one man, “but this was
about the worst. No more for mine! Little old earth is good enough
for me after this.”
“Same here!” a companion agreed.
The relatives and friends of the persons emerging from the basket of
the balloon crowded around them, the women, more demonstrative than
the men, hugging and kissing one another.
Then Joe, who had made a landing not far away from the point where
the balloon had come to earth, received his share of attention.
“There’s the young fellow who did it all. He saved us!” cried a woman.
“That’s what he did!” added the man who had pulled the valve cord.
“He came up after us and told us just what to do to get down. Only
for him one of us might have pulled the wrong cord, and we’d have
fallen like a chunk of lead.”
A crowd gathered about Joe, some to inspect his curious wings of
steel at close quarters, others to see the lad himself. Those whom he
had rescued, as well as their friends, shook him warmly by the hand
until his palm ached.
“Oh, it wasn’t much that I did,” he protested modestly, when showered
with praises. “The balloon would have come down eventually, anyhow.”
“That’s what I tell them,” said the owner of the balloon. “They
wouldn’t have been hurt.”
“Well, I’d as soon die by falling as of being frightened to death!”
exclaimed one woman. “No more balloons for me!”
The balloonist and his assistant were now deflating the bag, and
getting ready to pack it up. For it was evident that no more business
could be done that day. The crowd was too frightened at what had
happened, even though there had been, perhaps, no real danger to the
occupants of the basket.
But this did not lessen the regard in which Joe Strong was held.
He had suddenly become a hero. He had done a clever feat. Even the
balloon man admitted that.
“I never saw such a queer contraption of a flying machine,” he said
to Joe. “What do you do with it?”
“Fly in the circus,” and Joe indicated the big white tent.
“He’s with the circus!” exclaimed one eager-faced boy.
“I’m goin’ to see him!” added another.
“S’m I!” a third chimed in.
“I made another good advertisement for the show, anyhow,” thought Joe
with a smile.
The excitement began to quiet down now, though a big crowd was still
gathered about the scene, discussing in all its phases what had just
taken place. Joe had some of the circus men cart his machine back to
the dynamo to be recharged. There was still a good supply of current
available in the storage battery, but the young birdman had made a
longer flight than he was in the habit of making, and he wanted to be
sure he would have plenty of power for the exhibition in the circus
tent.
A little later, this time for safety’s sake having donned his
football helmet, Joe Strong was flying about in the big crowded tent.
There was no counter attraction in the captive balloon, for the owner
had taken it away, and many who had witnessed the accident and Joe’s
thrilling rescue, came to the show to view once more the _Bat_ and
its human occupant.
In addition to providing an extra advertisement for the circus, Joe
gained a personal one for himself. For word of what he had done came
to the ears of an enterprising newspaper reporter, who got a good
story out of it. And as there happened to be in the crowd a camera
enthusiast who snapped Joe as he was going to the rescue of those in
the balloon, there appeared with the newspaper account a picture of
the young aviator in flight. The story was published all over that
section of the country, and Joe’s fame spread.
“Oh, I’m so glad you rescued those poor people, Joe,” said Helen,
after the performance. “Of course, it was a great risk you took----”
“No risk at all!” Joe insisted. He declared, though few believed him,
that his wings were perfectly safe.
“Well, anyhow,” Helen went on, not wishing to renew the old argument,
“you have proved that your wings are useful as well as marvelous,
Joe.”
“So I have!” he exclaimed. “I never thought of that. I may be able to
make several of these machines and sell them. They might be useful
for rescuing stranded aviators,” and he laughed at the idea of an
aviator being “stranded” in mid-air.
There was such a crowd at the night performance that many had
to be turned away for lack of seating room. They came to see the
birdman and his wings of steel, that was evident, and in order not
to disappoint such a large number Joe decided on a little novelty.
With the permission of Jim Tracy he flew around outside the tent,
after finishing his act inside. He attached some small incandescent
electric lights to his machine, illuminating them with current from
his storage battery in the _Bat_, so that he was plainly visible as
he flew over the heads of the overflow crowd from the circus tent. It
was a free exhibition, and it pleased the people very much.
For a week or so after Joe’s sensational rescue of the balloon
passengers the circus played to good business. They were touring
through a populous and rich farming section, with a number of
fair-sized cities scattered about, and large numbers came to the show.
Then, for some reason, business began to fall off again until the
managers were almost in despair. For it takes a large quantity of
money to run a circus, especially a train-show as contrasted to a
wagon-show. In the latter the whole outfit is hauled from place to
place by horse and wagon, and transportation charges are low.
But railroad charges are high, and with the other necessary charges
accumulating from day to day it was needful for the show to take in a
large sum every twenty-four hours to keep things running. Then, too,
several of the performers, like Joe, were paid large salaries.
“Well, we’ve had a pretty lean week,” remarked Jim Tracy to Joe one
Saturday night as the show closed, to remain over Sunday in the
town where it had played. “A pretty lean week, and if we have many
more--well, I guess I’d better not say what will happen.
“But I’m counting on Rockport to make good for us. We stay there
three days, and it’s the center of a big and prosperous section. We
ought to take in a lot of money there.”
“I hope we do,” said Joe.
“We’ve just got to!” the ring-master exclaimed.
But alas for their hopes. When Rockport was reached and the circus
went out to the lots that had been hired, Jim Tracy saw a collection
of newly erected wooden buildings not far away, evidently of
temporary construction.
“What’s that?” Jim asked the advance agent. “Has another circus
gotten in ahead of us?”
“No, it’s about as bad though. That’s an aviation meet, and they
start giving flying exhibitions to-day!”