THE OLD INVENTOR
“Joe Strong wins!”
It was the voice of the race-judge announcing that fact--a fact
which every spectator could see for himself, for the aviator in the
monoplane which had come so near to beating our hero had come to
earth some distance from the finish line. And those behind Joe did
not cross until after he had done so.
“Well, I did the trick,” thought Joe, as he came down to the ground,
and released himself from the inner cage. “But it was a close squeak.
Now we’ll see what good it does the circus.”
The fact that Joe had won because of the disablement of one of his
competitors’ machines did not in the least detract from his victory.
Every race, or contest, is won either through the superiority of one
man or machine over another, or because of some failure, slip or
weakness on the part of the loser.
“Great work, Joe! Great work!” cried Benny Turton, rushing up to
shake hands with his chum.
“That’s just what it was!” chimed in Jim Tracy.
Others were crowding around Joe, endeavoring to shake his hand. Most
of them were strangers to him, but among them were some of his circus
friends and the other aviators.
“Allow me to congratulate you!” exclaimed the judge of the race,
and he, also, shook hands with the boy. “Your time for the three
rounds of the course was twenty-seven minutes, eight and three-fifth
seconds, which is very good, considering the type of machine you
used.”
“Thank you,” responded Joe. “I don’t recommend my machine for speed.
I got it up for the novelty of it, as novelty is what is wanted in a
circus.”
“I see,” remarked the judge. “Now if you will come over to the stand
I’ll give you the cup and prize money.”
After giving some of the circus attendants instructions about caring
for the _Bat_, Joe Strong made his way through the throng. He would
soon have to use the wings of steel in the circus, and the batteries
needed recharging.
“Well, you beat me fairly and squarely, friend,” said the man who had
been forced to come down in his monoplane.
“I’m glad you think so,” the circus lad responded. “I’m sorry your
engine went back on you. Only for that you’d have come in first.”
“Oh, it’s all in the game. I’ll beat you next time.”
“There isn’t going to be any next time for me--not in the style
of air craft I’ve been using,” said our hero. “It isn’t built for
racing, I can see that. I did it for the advertisement it would give
our show.”
“Well, it’s a good one. I’m coming in myself to see you to-night, for
I don’t fly after dark. I don’t care for it.”
“I’ll be glad to see you,” responded Joe.
A little later, with the prize money and cup in his possession, Joe
and his circus friends went back to the circus grounds, there being
no parade that day. The prize cup was put on exhibition, and the
press agent of the show saw to it that a good notice of Joe’s success
was sent to the papers.
“It’s the best advertisement of the show we’ve had in a long while,”
the press agent said, clapping the winner of the air race on the
back. “I wish you could do something like that every day.”
“That would be a little too much,” Joe replied. “But I’ll do the best
I can.”
Joe’s feat in winning the aviation prize had just the effect he and
the others of the circus had hoped for. It brought crowds to the
show that afternoon, so that every seat was filled, and hundreds had
to be turned away. And this in spite of the fact that there was an
exhibition on the aviation grounds at the same time.
“I don’t wish them any bad luck!” exclaimed Jim Tracy, “but that is
what I like to see,” and he motioned toward the crowd in the tent,
and nodded over toward the place where the aviators were flying
before a very small attendance. “And turning them away is a good
sign. They’ll come back to-night--and others too I hope.”
This hope was also realized, for another record-breaking crowd
assembled for the evening performance.
“We’ll make up what we lost by staying here another day,” said Mr.
Sampson. “Things begin to look brighter.”
Every one felt much better. Perhaps Joe best of all, for it had been
permitted him to bring about the good luck.
The fact seemed to be that the public wanted to see a person in an
air craft at close range, which they could do in Joe’s case as he
flew slowly over their heads.
A biplane or monoplane moves so swiftly that it is soon beyond the
range of the spectators, and only appears like a speck in the sky.
But Joe, though he could go high when he wished, remained near the
earth, thus enabling every one in the circus tents to see how his
machine was operated and how he steered it. This, perhaps, was the
reason why such crowds came to the circus after Joe had advertised
himself by winning the aviation prize.
The third day of the circus in Rockport was also marked by a
record-breaking attendance, and there was jubilation among the
partners. They would have stayed another two days, which would have
marked the end of the aviation meet, and which would have insured
them more patrons, but they had other dates to fill, so they moved on.
Not, however, before several of the aviators had called on Joe to
examine more closely the _Bat_. All of them agreed that it was
a clever piece of work, but they said, with Joe, that for quick
work kept up for a long distance, it was not to be compared with a
monoplane or a biplane.
“Its chief value,” said the man who had so nearly beaten Joe, “is
its smallness. It would be great in war, I think, for an army could
carry several of these small machines, and a man could go up, take an
observation, and come back with much less trouble than in one of the
big machines we have.”
“Well, I don’t fancy going to war,” laughed Joe.
Once more the big show moved on, and the “hoo-doo” which seemed
to have fallen on the finances appeared to be broken. For after
the performances in Rockport the circus played to good business in
several cities in succession. Joe, Benny Turton, Helen, with her
horse, Rosebud, Bill Watson, and one or two others were the “stars”
of the circus, and its chief attractions.
Joe, as may well be imagined, was almost a show in himself. He
rode his motor-cycle across the high wire, giving an exhibition in
marksmanship that was very difficult, for he had to steer his machine
with his knees as he shot the pistols at the glass balls or toy
balloons. Then, having thrilled the crowds in that fashion, he got
inside the _Bat_ and circled about the tent. And once again in this
part of his work Joe introduced something new.
Helen saw him outside his dressing room one day, inside the main
dressing tent, juggling with a number of red balls.
“What are you doing, Joe?” she asked. “You’re not going back to your
sleight-of-hand work, are you?”
“Not exactly,” he answered. “But I don’t want to get rusty, and I’m
practising so I can do this when I’m flying in the _Bat_. I think it
will make the act a little livelier.”
“I think it would if you dropped them on the heads of persons in the
audience,” Helen said with a laugh.
“That’s why I’m practising--so I won’t drop them,” Joe replied.
“Anyhow, they’re so light they wouldn’t hurt much, but I don’t want
to do any ragged juggling like that. Hence the practice,” and he
went on tossing the balls up in the air, skillfully catching them,
sometimes using one hand and sometimes two.
After considerable practice, the youth felt that he had gotten back
enough of his former skill to try juggling while he was flying. He
did not succeed very well when he first practised with the machine in
an empty tent. But he kept at it and at last announced he was ready
to put on a new act.
“Good!” exclaimed the ring-master. “Go to it, Joe!”
Joe did. And that day, while flying about the tent over the heads of
the audience, the young airman tossed up the red balls and caught
them, keeping them circulating in the air.
It was simple enough in itself, but when it is remembered that Joe
had to give considerable attention to the steering of his machine--up
and down as well as sideways--and look after the controlling of the
motors, varying the vibration of the wings in making turns, and do
this while using his hands for juggling, it will be seen that it was
not quite easy. The young experimenter had been obliged to make a
little different arrangement in the mechanism to enable him to use
his hands freely.
Joe’s variation of his flying act acted as a new stimulus to the
applause of the crowd, and he received so many “hands,” as this sort
of appreciation is called, that some of the other performers were
more jealous of him than ever. But that was only natural.
In addition to all this Joe did an act with Benny in the tank, using
the same plan that he had found so laughable--that of the rustic
pretending to catch the seal and falling in. This never failed to
bring forth a laugh.
Joe’s fame spread, especially after his winning of the aviation
prize, and one day he received a letter from a rival circus, making
him an offer of a high salary if he would transfer his work to their
tents. The offer was a good one, the salary being much larger than
the one Joe was then getting.
“Well, I would like the extra money,” he mused, “especially as I
don’t seem to be going to get mine from England. But I must play
square with my friends. I can’t desert them now.”
Joe was going to say nothing of the offer to Jim Tracy or Mr.
Sampson, for he did not think they could afford to increase his
salary, and he did not want to cause them worry, as they had been
very good to him.
But he spoke of the matter to Helen, and, she, saying nothing to Joe
about it, privately informed the ring-master.
“Joe is entitled to get all he can,” she said, “but he doesn’t want
to tell you about the offer for fear you will think he is trying to
force you to raise his salary.”
“I’m glad you told me,” said Jim Tracy. “Your idea is right--a
performer is entitled to all he can get. Nor do I blame the other
circus for trying to get Joe. But we’re not going to let him go. I’ll
have a talk with him.”
Joe was surprised when the ring-master spoke of the letter.
“I wasn’t going to say anything about it,” said Joe.
“I know you weren’t, and I appreciate your motive. But I found out.
And I want to say, Joe, that I have taken up the matter with the
other owners, and we have decided not to raise your salary.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t expect you to,” and Joe wondered at the smile on
Jim’s face.
“No, we’re not going to raise your salary, but we’re going to do
something better. We are going to give you an interest in the show,
and if we keep on doing as good business as we have the last few
weeks, and if you continue to draw, as I know you will, you’ll have a
larger salary than even the other people offered.”
Joe was so surprised that he hardly knew what to say, but he managed
to stammer his thanks. A few days later legal steps were taken that
made him one of the Sampson Brothers’ partners.
“Oh, Joe, I’m so glad!” Helen exclaimed, her eyes shining.
“So am I!” he answered. “Was it you who told about the offer from the
other circus?”
“How’d you guess?” she laughed, and blushed.
“It wasn’t very hard, seeing that you were the only one I told,” Joe
replied.
It was about a week after this that, as Joe was resting after the
afternoon performance, a messenger came to him, saying:
“There’s an elderly man outside asking for you. Shall I show him in?”
“What’s his name?”
“He said he didn’t want to give it except to you.”
Joe thought for a moment.
“It may be some word from my English estate,” he mused. “I’ll see the
man,” he told the messenger.
An aged man, with gray hair, a bushy beard, and queer, sharp, darting
eyes came shuffling in.
“Are you the young fellow who made the flying machine, and sails in
it?” he asked. The lad thought he had to deal with a curiosity-seeker
and was sorry he had let him in.
“Yes, I made the _Bat_,” Joe answered. “I’m sorry that I have no time
now to----”
“Hush!” exclaimed the old man. “Can any one hear what we say? It
must be kept secret. Listen! I am an inventor, and I have discovered
something that will be of great value if put on your apparatus. May I
tell you about it?”