UNCLE EZRA'S ACCIDENT
For some seconds after he had been taken up in the atmosphere in his
airship, Uncle Ezra said nothing. He just sat there in the padded
seat, clutching with his hands the rails in so tight a grip that his
knuckles showed white.
Up and up they went, Larson skillfully guiding the craft, until they
were a considerable distance above the earth.
"That's--that's far enough!" Uncle Ezra managed to yell, above the
throb of the now throttled-down motor. "Don't go--any higher!"
"All right," agreed the aviator. "But she'll work easier up a little
more."
"No--it--it's too far--to fall!" said Mr. Larabee, and he could not
keep his voice from trembling.
Really, though, he stood it bravely, though probably the thought of all
the money he had invested in the craft, as well as the prize he was
after, buoyed up his spirits.
"How do you like it?" asked Larson, when they had circled around over
Mr. Larabee's extensive farm for some time.
"It's different from what I expected," remarked Uncle Ezra. "But it
seems good. I don't know as I'll stand it all the way to San
Francisco, though."
"Oh, yes, you will," asserted Larson. "You'll get used to it in time."
"Is she working all right, Lieutenant Larson?"
"Yes, pretty well. I see a chance to make one or two changes though,
that will make her better."
"Does that mean--er--more money?" was Uncle Ezra's anxious question.
"Well, some, yes."
"Not another cent!" burst out the crabbed old man. "I won't spend
another cent on her. I've sunk enough money in the old shebang."
Larson did not answer. He simply tilted the elevating rudder and the
biplane poked her nose higher up into the air.
"Here! What you doing?" demanded Uncle Ezra.
"I'm going up higher."
"But I tell you I don't want to! I want to go down! This is high
enough!" and Uncle Ezra fairly screamed.
"We've got to go higher," said Larson. "The carburetor isn't working
just right at this low elevation. That's what I wanted the extra money
for, to get a new one. But of course if you feel that you can't spare
it, why, we'll simply have to fly higher, that's all. The carburetor
we have will work all right at a high elevation on account of the
rarefied air, but with a different one, of course we could stay
lower--if we wanted to.
"Still, if you feel you can't afford it," he went on, with a sly look
at the crabbed old man who sat there clutching the sides of the seat,
"we'll have to do the best we can, and make this carburetor do. I
guess we'll have to keep on a little higher," he added, as he glanced
at the barograph.
"Say! Hold on!" yelled Uncle Ezra in his ear. "You--you can have that
money for the carburetor! Go on down where we were before."
"Oh, all right," assented Larson, and he winked the eye concealed from
his employer.
The aircraft went down, and flew about at a comparatively low
elevation. Really, there did not seem to be much the matter with the
carburetor, but then, of course, Larson ought to know what he was
talking about.
"She's working pretty good--all except the carburetor," said the former
army man, after they had been flying about fifteen minutes. "The motor
does better than I expected, and with another passenger we'll be
steadier. She needs a little more weight. Do you want to try to steer
her?"
"No, sir! Not yet!" cried Uncle Ezra. "I can drive a mowing-machine,
and a thresher, but I'm not going to try an airship yet. I hired you
to run her. All I want is that twenty-thousand-dollar prize, and the
chance to sell airships like this after we've proved them the best for
actual use."
"And we can easily do that," declared Larson. "My mercury stabilizer
is working to perfection."
"When can we start on the race?" Mr. Larabee wanted to know.
"Oh, soon now. You see it isn't exactly a race. That is the competing
airships do not have to start at the same time."
"No?" questioned Uncle Ezra.
"No. You see each competing craft is allowed to start when the pilot
pleases, provided an army officer is aboard during the entire flight to
check the results, and the time consumed. Two landings will be
allowed, and only the actual flying time will be counted.
"That is if the trip is finished within a certain prescribed time. I
think it is a month. In other words we could start now, fly as far as
we could, and if we had to come down because of some accident, or to
get supplies, we could stay down several days. Then we could start
again, and come down the second time. But after that we would be
allowed no more landings, and the total time consumed in flying would
be computed by the army officer."
"Oh, that's the way of it?" asked Uncle Ezra.
"Yes, and the craft that has used the smallest number of hours will win
the prize," went on Larson. "I'm sure we can do it, for this is a fast
machine. I haven't pushed her to the limit yet."
"And don't you do it--not until I get more used to it," stipulated the
owner of the airship.
The former army officer sent the aircraft through several simple
evolutions to test her. She answered well, though Uncle Ezra gasped
once or twice, and his grip on the seat rail tightened.
"When do you plan to start?" Mr. Larabee wanted to know, again.
"Oh, in about a week. I have sent in an application to have a
representative of the government assigned to us, and when he comes
we'll start. That will give me a chance to buy the new carburetor, and
make some other little changes."
"Well, let's go down now," suggested Uncle Ezra. "Hello, what's this?"
he cried, looking at his coat. "Why, I'm all covered with oil!"
"Yes, it does drip a little," admitted the aviator. "I haven't
tightened the washers on the tank. You mustn't mind a little thing
like that. I often get soaked with oil and gasolene. I should have
told you to put on an old suit."
"But look here!" cried Uncle Ezra, in accents of dismay. "I didn't put
on an old suit! This is my second best. I paid thirteen dollars for
it, and I've bad it four years. It would have been good for two more
if your old oil hadn't leaked on it. Now it's spoiled!"
"You can have it cleaned, perhaps," suggested the lieutenant as he sent
the biplane about in a graceful curve, before getting ready for a
descent.
"Yes, and maybe have to pay a tailor sixty-five cents! Not much!"
cried Uncle Ezra. "I'll clean it myself, with some of the gasolene. I
ain't going to waste money that way. I ought to charge you for it."
"Well, I'll give you the gasolene to clean it," said the aviator, with
another unseen wink.
"Humph!" ejaculated Uncle Ezra with a grunt, as he tried to hold on
with one hand, and scrub off some of the oil spots with his
handkerchief.
"Well, I guess we'll go down now," announced Larson, after making
several sharp ascents and descents to test the efficiency of the
vertical rudder.
"Why, we're quite a way from the farm!" exclaimed Mr. Larabee, looking
down. "I didn't think we'd come so far."
"Well, I'll show you how quickly we can get back there!" boasted
Larson. "I'll have you at your place in a hurry!"
He turned more power into the motor, and with a rush and a roar, the
biplane shot forward.
But something happened. Either they struck an air pocket, or the
rudder was given too sudden a twist. Anyway, the airship shot toward
the ground at a sharp angle. She would have crashed down hard, only
Larson threw her head up quickly, checking, in a measure, the momentum.
But he could not altogether control the craft, and it swept past a tree
in an orchard where they were forced to land, the side wing tearing off
the limbs and branches.
Then, bouncing down to the ground, the airship, tilted on one end, and
shot Uncle Ezra out with considerable force. He landed in a heap of
dirt, turned a somersault, and sat up with a queer look on his face.