THE YOUNG AVIATOR
“There he is, Dave,” said Hiram Dobbs.
“Yes, that is Jerry Dawson, sure enough.”
“You see he is here.”
“I knew before this that he was,” replied Dave. “Mr. King told me this
morning that young Dawson and his father were both working for an airman
named Russell.”
“Well, Dave,” said Hiram in quite a serious tone, “I want you to look
out for that fellow.”
“Why? I never did him any harm.”
“Because I’m around a good deal, and I hear a lot of things you don’t.
That Jerry Dawson is a selfish, vicious boy. His father, they say, is
almost as bad, and the man they are working for, Russell, has been
barred from some meets on account of winning an altitude race by a
trick.”
“I’ve heard of Russell, too,” responded Dave. “He’s no friend of Mr.
King, and that’s enough for me. As to Jerry, though, I have no business
with him, and don’t intend to have if I can help it.”
“He’ll cross your path in some mean way, you mark my words,” said Hiram
warningly. “He’s got an idea that he owes Mr. King a grudge, and he’s
crazy to pay it off. Down by the south pylons early this morning, I saw
him talking to two of the roughest looking fellows I ever met. You was
at your practice, and Jerry pointed you out to the men, and was
whispering to them—something about you, I’ll bet.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for him, but I’m not a bit scared,” said Dave.
Hiram spoke of pylons just now as if he had known what they meant all
his life. It was nearly a week after his first meeting with Dave, and a
vast improvement was visible in the manner, position and finances of the
humble but ambitious farm lad.
Hiram had gone to work with a vengeance. Mr. King had told him that
there were many steps to the ladder leading to fame and fortune in the
aviation field, and Hiram had taken this literally.
“Why, I’m willing to scrub floors, work as candy butcher, tar ropes,
wash dishes, peddle programmes, anything honest to reach that first
rung,” he had told Dave back at Fairfield. “I’ll make good every step I
take, no matter how slow or hard it is, I’m going to become an aviator,
like yourself, Dave.”
“Me an aviator?” smiled Dave. “You flatter me, Hiram.”
“Do I?” retorted Hiram. “Well, then, so does Mr. King. And your teacher,
old Grimshaw. He says he never saw a person take to the business like
you do. Mr. King was bragging about you, too, down at the office
yesterday. He actually talked about entering you in one of the races
next week.”
Dave flushed with pleasure. He was too sensible to imagine himself a
full-fledged aviator, or anything like it. At the same time, he could
not deny that he had learned a great many new things within the past ten
days.
He did not look much like the tired, dusty and threadbare boy who had
left Brompton hungry, barefooted and practically penniless. The one
hundred feet descent from the _Aegis_ in the old inventor’s parachute
garment had been a complete success. It had put Dave in funds, too, for
Mr. Dixon had given him a ten dollar bill for his services.
“I don’t pretend to be much more than a rediscoverer as to my parachute
device,” Dixon acknowledged. “It’s up to date, and it does what I claim
for it, though. Tell you, Dashaway, I’ll be over to the Dayton meet, and
I’ll add a five dollar bill to every one hundred feet you drop with my
apparatus.”
“It really does work, doesn’t it, Mr. King?” Dave asked of the aviator a
little later.
“Oh, yes,” replied the airman, somewhat indifferently. “It won’t sell
much, though, outside of amateurs.”
“Why not?”
“A professional won’t admit any lack of skill or pluck, any more than a
crack swimmer would use a life preserver. Another thing, a crack
operator can’t be hampered with a suit tied around his ankles. Still
another thing, when the moment arrives for an airman to desert the ship,
things are so desperate he hasn’t much chance of jumping clear of the
machine.”
Dave had also received some money from the motion picture manager. Then
Mr. King handed him what was due him of a modest salary for the broken
week.
Saturday afternoon Mr. King had arranged to ship his traps to Dayton,
all except the monoplane, in which he and his young assistant made the
trip.
Dave found his friend, Hiram, on the new grounds. The country boy was in
high spirits. He had worked tirelessly while at Fairfield. When there
were no visitors to the grounds, he went into the town. He sold out a
lot of leftover souvenirs, and that Saturday afternoon boasted gleefully
of being for the first time in his life the possessor of ten dollars.
“All my own,” he announced, “and I’m going to tidy up a bit. Come and
help me pick out a cheap suit, Dave.”
“Yes, and I need a complete outfit myself,” explained Dave. “I tell you,
Hiram, this is a great day for two poor fellows who hadn’t a quarter
between them a week ago.”
“And see what we are learning,” added Hiram. “If ever airshipping gets
to be the go for traveling about, we’ll be in right on the jump, won’t
we?”
Mr. King was pleased to see the improved appearance of his young
apprentice in a neat sensible suit of clothes. He had taken a decided
liking to Dave, who was quick, reliable and accommodating. Dave felt
like a bird given its freedom after a long and irksome captivity. His
head was full of aviation all of the time, however, and the various
airmen he got acquainted with were all willing and glad to answer his
questions about this and that detail of the different make machines.
Monday morning, Mr. King had taken Dave down to a roped-off section of
the aviation field. It held a tent covering an old type airplane, and
also housing a queer old fellow with one arm, whom the airman introduced
to Dave as Mr. Grimshaw.
“Here’s the young fellow I was telling you about,” said Mr. King.
“You’ll find him a likely pupil.”
“I’ll soon know it, if that’s so,” responded the gruff, grim old fellow.
“Put him right through the regular course of sprouts, eh?”
“That’s what I want. It’s what he wants, too. Make it special, Grimshaw.
I’ve great hopes of him, and don’t want him worked in a crowd.”
Dave understood that his kind employer was spending some money for his
instruction. He felt duly grateful. He entered into his work with vim
and ardor, determined to make rapid progress, to show Mr. King how he
appreciated his friendly interest in him.
For three days Dave was with Grimshaw from ten to twelve o’clock in the
morning and two to four in the afternoon. The rest of the time he was
helping about the little building, where Mr. King made his headquarters.
His employer was preparing to enter for the first day’s altitude prize.
There was practicing to do, and the _Aegis_ needed constant attention.
Dave now knew how to oil it, keep the tanks full and clean up the
monoplane.
Dave had heard that his gruff old tutor, Grimshaw, had been quite a
balloonist in his time. A fall from an airship had crippled him. He was
useful in his line, however, kept pace with all the new wrinkles in
aviation, and ran a kind of school for amateurs.
From the first step in learning how to run the airplane, to the point
when with a wild cheer Dave felt himself safe in making a brief flight
all by himself, our hero’s progress was one of unceasing interest and
delight.
The first step was to learn how to glide. Dave aboard the glider,
Grimshaw and an assistant helped get the airplane under way. They
carried the weight of the machine and overcame its head resistance by
running forward at its own rate of speed.
Over the course Dave ran and repeated. As the glider cut into the air,
the wind caused by the running caught under the uplifted edge of the
curved planes, buoying up the machine and causing it to rise. At first
Dave lifted only a foot or two clear of the ground. Then he projected
his feet slightly forward, so as to shift the center of gravity a trifle
and bring the edges of the glider on an exact level parallel with the
ground.
“You see,” old Grimshaw would say, “you scoop up the advancing air and
rise upon it. Keep the planes steady, for if they tilt the air is
spilled.”
Dave soon learned the rudiments. He knew that in his first experiment he
must watch out that the rear end of the skids or the tail did not scrape
over the turf or slap the ground hard and break off. He kept the machine
always under control, so it would not get tail heavy. He guarded against
wing deflection, and the second day felt proud as a king when his tutor
relented from his usual grimness, and told him quite emphatically that
he would “do.”
“Never stubbed the toe of the machine, and that’s pretty fine for a
beginner,” commented the veteran airman.
It was not until Dave had a chance at a real biplane that he felt that
he had gained a glorious promotion. He spent hours looking over a
technical book Mr. King had loaned him. He hung around old Grimshaw
every spare moment he could find. It was the afternoon on his third
day’s tuition when Dave started his first real flight.
He had learned the perfect use of the rudder from running the airplane
up and down the ground. Dave knew the danger of leaving the course
unexpectedly in his frequent practice runs. He knew how to gauge a rush
of air against the face, how to use the elevator as a brake to keep from
pitching forward. Dave had mastered a heap of important details, and
felt strong confidence in himself.
Dave rose a few feet from the ground with the motor wide open. He moved
the rudder very gingerly. The switch was of the knife variety, and the
throttle and advance spark were in the form of pedals working against
springs.
“Ready,” called out Grimshaw, in his strange forbidding voice.
“Ready I am,” warbled Dave, keen for the contest of his skill.
“Then let her go.”
The biplane took a superb shoot into the air.
Dave was not afraid of forgetting how to run the machine straight ahead.
He had watched Mr. King at the level too often for that. He got fairly
aloft, tried coasting, veered, struck a new level, and worked the
ailerons to decrease any tendency for tipping.
On his second turn Dave had to use the emergency brake, the stout bar of
steel on the skid near the rear end. He banked on a spirited whirl, got
his level, circled the course twice, and came back to the ground flushed
with excitement and delight, without so much as a wrinkle put in the
staunch aircraft.
It was on this account that Dave felt proud and then modest, as his
staunch friend, Hiram, referred to him as an aviator. He had entire
confidence now in his ability to manage an airship alone. Dave had some
pretty ambitious dreams as he went on his way. Great preparations were
being made for the meet, which was to open the next morning.
Dave kept busy about the _Aegis_ quarters. Just at dusk Mr. King sent
him to the town near by to order some supplies from a hardware store.
Dave attended to his commissions and started back for the grounds an
hour later.
Just as he passed through the crowd about the main entrance to the
aviation field our hero turned as he heard a voice say quickly and in a
meaning way:
“There he is!”
“Yes, it’s the Dashaway fellow,” was responded.
Dave made out two forms skulking into the shadow of the office building.
Then some passersby shut them out from view.
“Hello,” said Dave to himself, “that sounds and looks suspicious.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------