THE BROTHERS' INVENTION
When Paul Ross reached home that afternoon, it was to find someone
there whom he had not expected to see. A tall, broad-shouldered young
man, with a bronzed face and pleasant blue eyes, sat in the
living-room, talking to his mother.
Paul rushed forward and joyfully grasped his brown hand. "Why, John!"
he exclaimed, "I didn't expect to find you here!"
"Of course you didn't, Buddy," was the smiling response of the young
man, who was wont to call his younger brother by this affectionate
war-mate term. "The fact is, as I was just telling mother, two days
ago I didn't know myself that I would be anywhere at this hour except
speeding through the air between New York and Washington on my usual
mail run in my trusty old Martin-bird. As it is, Buddy, it looks now
as if neither you nor I would ever handle her controls again." There
was a note of sadness in John's voice as he said this.
"Why, what's the matter, John?" asked Paul quickly.
"It's this way, lad: You know I told you and mother a couple of weeks
ago, when I was here on my last regular lay-over, that Congress was
talking about cutting a big slice out of the Air Mail appropriation, in
order to reduce expenses. Well, the upshot of it all is, they made the
cut, and not having enough money to carry on the service as it has
been, the head of the Air Mail has ordered the abandonment of all
flying divisions except the main line between New York and San
Francisco. Only those pilots will be kept. So that's why I am here."
"Won't they take you on again soon, John?" asked Mrs. Ross.
"I fear not, mother," replied her elder son, shaking his head soberly.
"Our field-superintendent did say that he would give me the first
opening in the transcontinental line, since my records lead the bunch,
and he even offered to displace one of the boys on that route and put
me in his place, but--"
"But you refused," interrupted Paul, with conclusive pride in his big
brother.
John grinned. "Well, put it that way if you like, Buddy," said he;
"anyhow, as I said before, here I am. Some chap may quit or 'go
West'--you know a round dozen of the poor chaps have been killed in the
last year--and that may let me back in again. But I won't wait for it;
I'll get after some of the commercial flying companies next week and
see if I can't land a berth with them. I simply can't think of working
on the ground. I guess I should have been born a bird, mother, instead
of a human being, I love flying so much."
"I really believe you would be safer if you were a bird, John,"
asserted Mrs. Ross, with an uneasy smile. "Birds have no motors to
fail them, no fire to ignite and burn them up, as our present
airplanes. How many of your own unfortunate associates can lay their
untimely deaths to either one of these causes! It was only the last
time you were here that you were telling Paul and me about the terrible
fall Howard Smith had because his motor stopped, and how his machine
ignited, and how he was burned past recognition."
"I know," said the veteran airman; "those things will happen at times,
mother, even with the most careful fellows. The time will come, I
think, and very soon, when stalled motors can be restarted in the air,
and when accidentally ignited fuel will burn itself out with no harm to
either the machine or its occupants. The fact is, Paul and I have some
ideas now as to how to overcome those very troubles, along with other
improvements, and the first chance we get we are going to build an
airplane along these lines and put it to the test, aren't we, Buddy?"
"We surely are," was Paul's enthusiastic response. "One of these fine
days, mother, when we get our patents and sell them, you shall live in
as fine a home as the Giddings's over on Shadynook Hill, and when you
wish to go into the city to do any shopping, John or I will take you in
a beautiful sedan airplane which will be safer than an automobile, and
which will be guaranteed not to raise a dust or wear out tires."
Mrs. Ross laughed heartily at the glowing picture her second son had
drawn, more because he spoke with such seriousness, and because John
too wore a matter-of-fact look during the prophecy.
"Oh, I have some great dreamers here in this little family," she said,
as she arose to resume her household duties. "We will hope that some
of your dreams come true."
Her sons laughed good-naturedly; then Paul turned to his brother.
"Come on down in the basement, John," he said; "I wish to show you our
latest miniature model, the Sky-Bird. Another day's work ought to
finish it."
John followed him downstairs. In one corner of the large basement was
a good-sized workbench, lighted by two windows, and equipped with
several neatly-arranged shelves, which now held a divers collection of
chisels, bits, countersinks, etc. In a splendid oak cabinet attached
to the wall above was a more extensive array of wood- and metal-working
tools, some of which the brothers had bought with money earned at odd
jobs when they were still small boys. Since, they had added to their
set from time to time, as they needed this tool or that, until now few
professional mechanics could boast of a finer assortment.
Suspended from a hook directly over the bench was a beautiful six-foot
model of a racy-looking monoplane of peculiar and striking design. It
was glistening in several coats of spar-varnish, and so light and
delicate was its spidery frame that, as John reached out to take it in
his hand, the exhalation of his breath set it swaying away from him.
"My word, it's a light boy all right!" exclaimed John admiringly, as he
carefully took hold of the pretty thing. "That's just the feature
we've tried to get, too, Buddy,--lightness." He looked closely at the
long, graceful pair of wings, which were of an unusual thickness and a
slight upward thrust like those of a bird, and which widened batlike as
they ran back and joined the rear fuselage or body of the craft. "Have
you put the helium-gas in these wings yet, Paul, as we planned? I see
you have installed the valves. There's a valve in the after-fuselage,
too."
"The wings and fuselage are both filled," said Paul; "that is what
makes the Sky-Bird so light. If you had brought more helium the last
time you were here, I could have pumped in twice the quantity, I think,
and that would have made her so light she would rise of her own accord,
I really believe. As it is, she now weighs less than a half-ounce. I
had the scales on her yesterday."
John shared his brother's enthusiasm. "Fine!" he cried, with sparkling
eyes. "Why, that's almost a neutral condition, as she is! Buddy, if
we can apply this principle to a full-size machine--and I don't know
why we can't--we shall have solved the biggest problem facing airplane
designers to-day. With a machine weighing only a trifle more than her
load of fuel and baggage, she will not only fly a lot faster but go a
lot farther, with a given supply of fuel, than the present-day planes.
And what is more, she could attain good speed with a single engine of
reasonable power, where now many machines are handicapped with the
burdensome weight of an extra power-plant. When will she be ready to
test out?"
"I had planned to give her a trial in the old fair-grounds Saturday
afternoon," said Paul. "I've asked Bob Giddings to go along."
"That's all right; Bob is a fine lad," said John; "but since you have
set the trial for Saturday afternoon, and Bob's father is usually at
home at that time, why don't you ask him to view the affair also? I'm
sure he would enjoy it. He's a great sportsman, you know, like most
newspaper men, and considerably interested in aeronautics."
"I had not thought of it; I'll do it," was the prompt response of Paul.
"But we must warn him to silence, John. Whatever happens, we don't
wish this to get into the _Daily Independent_."
"I'd say not," rejoined the former Air Mail pilot sententiously.
"Mum's the word; we've got something here, Buddy. Unless I'm greatly
mistaken we'll be consulting with the Patent Office at Washington much
sooner than little mother anticipates." He poked Paul in the ribs as
he spoke, and both young men gave vent to a low chuckle of intense
satisfaction. It was an even greater pleasure to look forward to
surprising their mother than to astonishing the world and winning its
plaudits.
As good an airplane mechanic and flyer as John Ross was, his younger
brother was little behind him in the matter of skill in handling a
modern machine. It had been John's habit to return to Yonkers every
two weeks for a week's lay-off, as customary with other pilots in the
Air Mail service. On these occasions he had arrived in his plane, and
during the term of his stay had often taken Paul up into the air for
pleasure flights, as well as his chum Bob Giddings. Both boys were
keen students, and it was not long before John could trust them to
operate his big Martin with every confidence. Once, indeed, he and
Paul had been caught over Long Island Sound in a bad storm, when the
latter was in the pilot's seat, but Paul had brought the craft through
like a veteran, winning his brother's unstinted praise and undying
respect.