THE PRIZE RACE
Joe Strong looked into the faces of those gathered about him. There
were the ring-master; Bill Watson, the veteran clown, who owned
a small interest in the show; and Mr. Sampson; besides the other
partners. On each face was anxiety, for they well knew what failure
meant. And if the tents were not filled failure might result, on
account of so long a run of bad luck.
“Well, this is what I thought of,” began Joe. “There is to be a
free-for-all race to-morrow--a sort of handicap affair, and I was
thinking I could enter myself and the _Bat_. We could let it be known
that I was from the circus, and, even if I didn’t win the prize,
it would advertise the show so that we might get a big crowd in.
The race takes place in the morning, so it won’t interfere with my
performance.”
“But do you know anything about running an aeroplane, Joe?” asked Mr.
Sampson.
“I don’t intend to run one of them. I’ll use my _Bat_.”
“Is it fast enough?” asked Jim Tracy. “Some of those aeroplanes are
pretty speedy, I understand.”
“I can make the _Bat_ go fast when I want to,” Joe replied. “I don’t
dare let it out in the tent or I might burst through the side. But of
course I can’t compete with their speediest machines. However, this
is to be a handicap affair--that is, the fast machines will have to
let the slower ones get off first on a time allowance. I ought to get
a pretty big allowance as I don’t rate very high in power as compared
to the others. So I think I have a good chance for a prize.”
“Well, maybe you have,” conceded Jim Tracy. “It’s very good of you to
offer, anyhow.”
“Well, why shouldn’t I? I want to see the circus make money as much
as the rest of you. My living depends on it, especially since I don’t
seem to be getting any more money from England.”
“Is the game up over there?” asked the veteran clown.
“So it seems,” answered Joe. “Well, what do you say? Shall I try in
the prize race?”
“By all means!” exclaimed Mr. Sampson. “Get your entry in early, and
do the best you can. I’ll have some dodgers printed advertising the
fact that one of our circus performers is going to race in the oddest
air machine ever invented. Even if you don’t win the race you may
create enough interest to bring bigger crowds in here to see you. Go
to it, Joe, as the boys say!”
“I will!” promised the young performer. “I’ll give my _Bat_ a good
overhauling to-night to have it ready for to-morrow morning, and I’ll
go over now and make my entry.”
Joe had no difficulty in getting himself and his machine entered
in the handicap prize race, which was for a gold cup and a sum of
money, there being no amateur rules to govern air-flying. When the
lad described and named his machine the official making out the entry
blank looked up in surprise.
“You don’t expect to stand any chance in that, do you?” he asked,
smiling good-naturedly.
“Well, yes,” said Joe. “It is a peculiar machine, but I think I can
make good if I get the right kind of handicap.”
“We will be perfectly fair, of course, and from what you tell me of
the power of your storage battery you will get a good time allowance.
I shall have to see your machine, first, however.”
“I’ll have it over in the morning,” promised Joe. Then he went back
to his own quarters in the circus tent to work over the _Bat_. He had
an extra set of gear wheels and torsion rods which gave greater speed
than the ones he had been using, and these he put in, with the help
of some of the circus mechanics. Then the storage battery was charged
to its limit, and the boy himself carefully oiled every bearing.
“Now we’ll see what happens,” he said, as he went to bed at a late
hour to get some much-needed rest.
There was considerable activity the next day both on the circus
grounds and in the aviation enclosure. For word of what Joe intended
to attempt had gone around, and there was much interest manifested.
The aviators were “grooming” their machines in readiness for the
race, and on all sides could be heard the popping of the powerful
engines.
The _Bat_ was taken over for the official handicap test, and to Joe’s
delight he was given the longest time allowance of any of the racers.
This meant that Joe would be allowed to start off ahead of any of
the others, who would follow at indicated intervals. And this was
perfectly fair, just as it is fair to allow a small boy to start
ahead of a big boy in a race. It evened matters up.
A great crowd was on hand early in the morning, for the aviation meet
had been well advertised, and the race was a special attraction.
“It’s lucky they had it in the morning instead of the afternoon,”
remarked Jim Tracy, as he watched the throngs surging around the
hangars and scattering over the grounds, “else we wouldn’t have a
handful of people in our tent. But if Joe brings home the prize, and
even if he doesn’t, we may get enough advertising out of it to pull
us up even.”
“I hope so,” said Joe.
He was getting ready for the race, and to make it more spectacular
he had donned the white shimmering suit he wore when riding his
motor-cycle across the high wire. This showed him off to advantage
inside the framework where he had to take his place to operate and
steer his queer machine.
The course was three times around the aviation grounds, the
termination being in front of the grandstand. Already some of the
aviators were practising, flying around to “tune up” their engines.
Joe decided he would not do this, as his power in the storage battery
was a constantly lessening one, and he could not afford to waste any
of the current. He knew pretty well what the _Bat_ could do, and his
motive power, unlike that of the others, was positive and certain as
long as a volt or ampere remained in the battery. A gasoline engine
is so complicated that it needs constant attention and care.
Larger and larger crowds assembled to witness the race, and while
the grandstand, as well as the less expensive seats, was well filled
there was also a vast throng outside the grounds.
“If we only had them in our tent!” exclaimed Jim Tracy.
“Maybe we’ll get them there this afternoon,” said Joe.
It was almost time for the race to begin. Joe’s machine was taken
to the starting line and he got inside. The officials were waiting,
watches in hand.
“Go!” came the sudden order, and Joe turned on the power.
Once again the big wings vibrated up and down, fanning the air with
ever-increasing power. Then, amid a cry from the crowd, the _Bat_
rose quickly upward and shot off around the course.
Joe decided to go upward until he found a favorable current of air.
He wanted a place where the wind did not blow at all, if such were
possible to find, for, as the course was circular, if he got into a
wind stratum he would be helped half way around, and then hindered as
much in the other half.
At about a thousand feet elevation the boy found what he wanted, and
then he set off on a straight course, having risen at an angle. He
was going quite fast, but still had some power in reserve.
A noise behind him, like the firing of a dozen rifles, told Joe his
first competitor was coming after him, but he could not turn around
to look back.
“I’ve just got to keep on flying and trust to luck,” he told himself.
For his machine was so built that only by a great effort could he
turn around in it. “The next one I make will have more room,” Joe
decided.
On and on the lad went. He could hear the explosions of more aircraft
engines now.
“I guess the last of ’em must be off now,” Joe reflected. “They are
the speediest of the lot. Still they may have an accident, and while
I don’t wish any one bad luck I do hope I win this race.”
As may be guessed, accidents are very likely to happen to aeroplanes,
though the machines are much safer and more reliable than in former
years. The accident of which Joe thought was the stoppage of the
engine. Once this occurs, it is necessary for the aviator to descend
to the ground and start again. He glides, or volplanes, to the earth,
with very little risk, and has a mechanician whirl his propellers
until the stalled engine starts again.
There are very few aeroplanes with self-starters that can be put in
operation from the aviator’s seat. The makers are coming to this very
necessary feature, however.
Joe Strong knew that if some of the speediest, and therefore largest
and most complicated, machines should have a stalled engine, his
chances would be improved. It was all in the sporting chance. An
accident might happen to the wings of steel as well.
Once around the course went Joe, the others following him. Down
below, the big crowd, including many circus folk, were cheering like
mad, for it was a thrilling and exciting sight.
“Well, I’m ahead yet,” said the young circus performer to himself, as
he glanced out of the side of his cage and saw none of the others in
line with him. “If I can keep it up for two rounds more I’ll be all
right. But the worst is yet to come.”
Half way on the second round Joe heard a noise gradually drawing
nearer to him. Then he had a glimpse of an aeroplane that was
overtaking him.
“I guess it’s all up,” the boy mused. Still he was doing his best,
and he had the satisfaction of knowing that either way it would be a
big drawing card for the circus.
Slowly the other air machine nosed its way ahead of Joe. There were
other machines behind the circus airman and his nearest competitor,
but they did not seem to be able to cut down Joe’s lead sufficiently
to pass him.
“Well, now comes the test,” the lad said grimly, as he swung into
the “home stretch.” He gradually turned on the reserve power he had
been saving, and saw that he was creeping slowly up. Then to his joy,
though with it was mingled a feeling of regret for the other man, he
saw that the aeroplane was losing speed. The explosions did not come
so regularly.
“His engine is missing!” thought Joe. “I’ve got a chance!”
There was a click as he threw the switch over as far as it would go
and shot forward at increased speed. As he did this, he noted the
lack of sound from the rival machine and knew that the engine had
gone dead. The aviator began to volplane down.
Then, amid the wild cheers of the crowd, Joe flew on and on, until he
shot over the finish line--a winner!