That was the first of many pleasant and interesting visits that Andy had
with Mr. Morse, the inventor. By the end of the week the automobile boy
had become an airship enthusiast. Andy was charmed. When he was not
pottering about the _Eagle_ or sailing the air with John Parks, he was
with Mr. Morse in a congenial atmosphere of mechanics.
Although John Parks was now engrossed in using his glider, he had not
given up using his dirigible balloon, and he also gave Andy some lessons
in running this.
The dirigible was shaped like a fat cigar, and had under it a frame-work
carrying a thirty horse-power motor and two six-foot suction wheels.
When there was no wind, the dirigible could sail quite well, but in a
breeze it was hard to make much progress, and to use it in a high wind
was entirely out of the question.
[Illustration: HE GAVE ANDY SOME LESSONS IN RUNNING THIS]
"The monoplanes and biplanes make the old-style balloons and the
dirigibles take a back seat," said the Airship King. "But, just the
same, if your motor gives out, a dirigible is a nice thing to float down
in."
"I like the dirigible," answered Andy. "But for speed, give me the new
kind of flying machines."
Andy was in his element among the lathes, vises, saws, and general tools
of the workshop. Once or twice he made practical suggestions that
pleased Morse greatly. The inventor rarely left the camp, and when he
did it was generally after dark. There was material and aeroplane parts
to purchase. These commissions were entrusted to Andy, and he showed
intelligence in his selections. Once he had to go fifty miles on the
railroad to a factory to have some special devices made. He used such
dispatch, and was so successful in getting just what was wanted by
staying with the order till it was filled, that Mr. Morse warmly
commended him to Parks.
Andy had drifted completely away from the old life. He was fast
forgetting all about the Talbots and his former troubles at Princeville.
One day, in a burst of satisfaction over a trial flight Andy made alone
in a monoplane, John Parks declared that he would not rest until he had
made Andy the junior air king of America. Then Andy felt that he had
found his mission in life, and pursued his new avocation with more
fervor than ever.
About all Parks thought or talked of was the coming aero meet. Andy
learned that he was investing over two thousand dollars in maintaining
the camp and in building the machine with which he was to compete for
the prize. His success would mean something more than the winning of the
five thousand dollars. It would add to the laurels already gained as the
Air King in his former balloon experience, and would make him a
prominent figure in the aviation field.
"Come on, Andy," he said to his young assistant one afternoon. "We'll
stroll over to the main grounds and see what new wrinkle these ambitious
fellows are getting up."
They spent an interesting hour over in the main enclosure where
prospective exhibitors were located. There was quite a crowd of
visitors. Some of the aviators were explaining the make-up of their
machines, and others were making try-out flights. Parks and Andy were
passing to the outfield where the test ascensions were in progress, when
the former suddenly left the side of his companion.
Andy was surprised to see him hasten up behind a sinister-looking man,
who was apparently explaining to an old farmer about the machines. Parks
seized the man rudely by the arm and faced him around squarely. The
latter scowled, and then a strange, wilted expression came into his dark
face.
"Excuse this gentleman, if you will," said Parks to the farmer.
"Why, suttinly," bobbed the ruralite. "Much obleeged to him for being so
perlite in showing me 'round."
Parks drew the shrinking man he had halted to the side of a tent.
"Now, then, Gib Duske," he said sternly, "what were you up to with that
greenhorn?"
"He told you, didn't he?" growled the other; "showing him the sights."
"You're given to doing such things for nothing!" rejoined Parks
sarcastically. "I recall some of your exploits in that line in the rural
districts when you were with the circus."
"See here," broke out the other angrily, "what is it your business?"
"Just this," retorted Parks steadily; "we're trying to run a decent
enterprise here, and such persons as you have got to give an account of
themselves or vacate. What's your game, anyhow?"
"I'm up to no game that I know of," sullenly muttered the man called Gib
Duske. "If you must know, I've entered my airship for the race."
"You!" exclaimed Parks; "'Your airship!' Where did you get an airship?"
"I suppose I have friends to back me like anybody else when they see a
show for their money. I'm an old balloonist. A syndicate, knowing my
professional skill, has put up the capital to give me a try."
"Oh, they have?" observed Parks incredulously. "I'd like to see your
syndicate."
"And I've got my machine," declared Duske excitedly, "I'd have you know.
I've heard you're entered. Fair play, then, and I'm going to beat the
field."
Parks eyed his companion in speculative silence for a minute or two.
Then he said:
"You talk about fair play. Good! You'll get it here, if you're square.
If you're not, you had best take my warning right now, and cut out for
good. There will be no balloon slitting like there was at a certain race
you were in two years ago out West. The first freak or false play you
make to queer an honest go, I'll expose you to the field."
"I've got no such intentions," mumbled Duske, with a malicious glance at
his challenger.
"See you don't, that's all," retorted Parks, and walked off. "You
noticed that man?" he added, as he rejoined Andy, who had listened with
interest to the conversation.
"Yes, particularly," answered Andy, really able to tell his employer
more than he dared.
"Whenever you run across him," went on the Air King, "keep your eyes
wide open. I'd like to know just how much truth there is in his talk
about entering for the race."
"Is he a bad man, Mr. Parks?" inquired Andy.
"He was once a confidence man," explained the aeronaut. "When I knew him
he was giving balloon ascensions at a circus. He had a hired crowd
picking pockets while people were staring up into the air watching his
trapeze acts. Once at a race he slyly slit the balloon of an antagonist,
who was nearly killed by the fall."
"I'll find out just what he is doing," exclaimed Andy.
"You can manage, for he knows me," observed Parks.
Andy said no more. He was pretty sure from the name and description that
the fellow whom his employer had just called down was the enemy that Mr.
Morse had told him about. He wished he could tell Mr. Parks all that he
knew and surmised, but he could not break his promise to the inventor.
"Hello, there, Ridley!" hailed Parks, as they came to where a lithe,
undersized man was volubly boasting to an open-mouthed crowd about the
superior merits of his machine. "Bragging again?"
"Go on, John Parks," called the little man good-naturedly. "I'm not in
your class, so what are you jumping on me for?"
"Oh, just to stir you up and keep you encouraged. I hear you've got a
machine that will land just as steadily and balance on top of a
telegraph-pole as on a prairie."
"That's pretty near the truth, John Parks," declared Ridley. "I can't
make a mile in thirty seconds, but I can get to the ground on a straight
dive ahead of your clumsy old _Eagle_, or any other racer on the field."
"Why, Ridley," retorted Parks, in a vaunting way, "I've got a boy here
who can give you a handicap and double discount you."
"Is that him?" inquired Ridley, with a stare at Andy.
"That's him out of harness," laughed Parks. "Like to see him do
something?"
"Just to show you're all bluster, I would," answered Ridley.
"Machine in order?"
"True as a trivet."
"Andy, give them a sample of a real bird diving, will you?"
"All right," said Andy.
He had not been tutored by his skillful employer vainly. Andy was in
excellent practice. He got into the clear, started up the Ridley
machine, and took a shoot on a straight slant up into the air about one
hundred and fifty feet.
A cry of surprise went up from the watching group as Andy suddenly let
the biplane slide on a sharp angle towards the ground, shutting off the
power at the same time.
Again reaching a fair height, he tipped the biplane on an angle of five
degrees and came down so fast that the spectators thought something was
wrong. When the machine was within a yard of the ground, Andy brought it
to the horizontal with ease and made a pretty landing.
"Well, Ridley," rallied John Parks, as the stupefied owner of the
machine stared in open-mouthed wonder, "what do you say to that?"
"What do I say," repeated Ridley. "I say, look out for your laurels,
John Parks. That boy is a wonder!"