ARRIVAL AT FORT MEYER.
The day was just the kind to put vigor and enthusiasm into one. Old
Betty ambled along, reasonably frisky after a night’s rest, and the
country began to show signs of thickening population. Amos began to get
a little nervous.
“How much money yo’ got now Marse Morey?” he inquired at last,
hesitatingly.
“Oh, ’bout two dollars.”
“How long dat ’gwine keep us when we git to Wash’ton?”
“Quit your worryin’, Amos. I’ll look after you. I’ll see that you don’t
go hungry.”
“How yo’ gwine do dat? I ain’t got no mo’ money.”
“Well in a pinch, I’m going to sell Betty and the surrey.”
The colored boy shook his head.
“Yo’ don’ dast sell Betty. Yo’ ma’ll skin yo’ ef yo’ sell de ole hoss.
Sides, who gwine buy dis ole trap? Dat hoss ain’t wuff--”
“Didn’t she carry us all the way here?”
“She sho’ly did, but she cain’t carry us back. Dat hoss ready fo’ to
quit. She got de heaves.”
“We can work,” moralized Morey. “We can make two dollars and a half a
day working.”
“Yo’ ain’t come hyar to do no wuk, I reckon. How come you go to
Wash’ton, Marse Morey?”
“I’m going to make our fortune, Amos. I’ve got a great invention that
I’m going to sell. It will give us all the money we can use. Then I’m
going to buy a banjo for you and we’re going back home on the cars and
fix up the place and be real farmers and have pigs and cows and horses
and paint the house and mend the fences and hire hands to run the farm.”
“Look hyar, boy! Yo’ losin’ yo’ min’! Who tol’ yo’ we gwine do all dat?
Yo’ done been communin’ wid ole crazy man Keyhole.”
“You wait and see--I’ve got something in my bag that is going to do all
that and more--when I sell it.”
“We gwine to have money to ride on de steam cars?”
“You just do as I tell you and follow me and you’ll not only ride on
the steam cars but you’ll eat on them.”
“Eat on ’em? Who gwine have time to eat on de steam cars? Yo’ boun’ to
look outen de winder. I ain’t gwine have no time to eat on de cars.
Talkin’ bout eatin,” went on Amos, “I reckon we could eat now ef we had
de eatin’s.”
“We dine in Washington this evening, Amos. We won’t bother about it
until then. Besides, I may not sell my big invention this evening and
we’ve got to string out our $2.”
“Dar’s de chicken we done pay two bits fo’.”
Morey reached down, caught hold of the stiffened fowl and threw it on
the roadside.
“It’s too old to eat, Amos. Don’t you ever get enough food? We just had
breakfast. I’ll buy you a good dinner. Now shut up.”
“One aigg an’ a piece o’ bacon yo’ couldn’ grease a saw wid! Dat ain’t
no breakfus’.”
“Amos!” exclaimed Morey sharply. “If you don’t quit bothering me about
eating I’ll ask old man Keyhole tonight where he got that knife. I
reckon he knows.”
“Well ef yo’ kin stan’ it, I kin. But I certainly is pow’ful hongry.”
There was a little halt at noon to refresh Betty with water and a
nibble of grass, during which time Morey washed his face and hands in
the creek by the side of which they had stopped. Amos had returned to
his old clothes, but Morey now arranged a compromise costume for him,
discarding the pin, tie and hat and making him presentable in his best
trousers, shoes and white shirt.
The smoke of Washington was already in sight. By four o’clock the
suburban farms had been reached and Amos saw for the first time the
environs of a city. The smart, up-to-date homes bewildered him and he
drank all in with wide eyes. They were on the highway that leads into
Alexandria and Morey was beginning to worry. Just what he was to do
now that he had reached the city he did not know. He could not figure
out what he and his companion were to attempt first. He would cross
the Potomac, enter the city and, he had almost decided, stop at the
first stable he could find and sell Betty. This went pretty hard with
him, but it was easier than facing the big city with a helpless colored
boy on his hands and only $1.88 in his pocket. With the few dollars
that he might get by this means they would find a cheap boarding
house and prepare to look up his friend, Lieutenant Purcell. If this
required several days or his funds ran out while he was engaged in his
negotiations he had one well-defined idea. He would find a job for
Amos, some simple labor at which the boy could make enough to keep both
going until fortune turned with them.
Before reaching Alexandria the two boys found themselves among the
country villas of the middle-class suburbanites. Then the park-like
expanse and neatly trimmed hedges of Arlington Cemetery rose on their
right. Intent on this pleasing picture, which Amos was slow to believe
was a cemetery--a soldier’s grave-yard--Morey did not for a time
notice another institution on his left. But, when he did look and
saw the national colors fluttering from a tall, white flagstaff, and
the open parade ground and orderly rows of officers’ homes, he knew
instinctively that he had stumbled upon Fort Meyer at the front door of
the city. His heart leaped.
Giving Betty a slap with the lines he hastened on toward the entrance,
through which, in the distance, he could already see a thin stream
of people passing. A moment later the surrey reached a sort of rear
entrance. Here a soldier on guard duty walked slowly back and forth.
“Is this Fort Meyer?” Morey asked anxiously as they passed.
“That’s what.”
“May we drive in?”
The soldier, dropping his gun to “parade rest,” shook his head but
jerked his thumb down the road where people on foot and in carriages
were entering.
“Come to see the airship?” he remarked.
“What airship?” asked Morey, eagerly.
“I reckon you’re in time,” said the soldier smiling. “Always in time
for them boys. They fuss around all day and then tell you at dark that
it’s too windy. But I reckon they’ll go up today,” he added, glancing
skyward.
“What airship is it?” persisted Morey, leaning half out of the vehicle.
“They ain’t but one fur’s the army is concerned,” laughed the soldier,
shouldering his gun again--“Wright Brothers. Hustle along and make a
bluff. Maybe they’ll let old Dobbin in.”
“Is Lieutenant Purcell here?” continued Morey, much excited.
“If he ain’t gone to town, he is,” was the answer. “He ought to be
here. That’s his business. He’s the boss of the job.”
A few minutes later Morey and Amos were in the line of spectators
making their way toward the reservation parade grounds. But Betty could
go only within the limits of the fort, where Morey turned her over to
Amos with orders to await his return. Then he hurried after the crowd.
Undoubtedly it was a gala day. Hundreds of fashionably dressed women
and smartly costumed men were defying the dust of the paths leading to
the wide parade grounds and officers with gold, red and yellow facings
on their uniforms were hurrying by in mule-drawn military busses.
Near what seemed to be a sort of club-house a group of soldiers stood
idly. On the gallery, a number of guests were collected in animated
groups. While Morey was debating whether to make his way thither before
seeking the parade ground where, he had already learned, Orville Wright
was to give an exhibition test of his wonderful aeroplane, there
was the sharp blast of a bugle and the clatter of horses’ feet. An
open carriage dashed by with three men in it, preceded by a bunch of
galloping cavalrymen. Hats flew off in all directions and a few of the
spectators cheered.
It was Morey’s first view of a President of the United States. Throwing
his own hat into the air he lit out on a run after the swiftly moving
carriage, and then, suddenly noticing that there were no other boys
present and that no one else was excited in just the same manner, he
calmed down and smiled.
“Where’s the airship?” asked the boy, seeing that the President was
bound first for the club-house, but figuring that he would proceed to
the testing grounds.
The smart young soldier to whom Morey had addressed his remark said:
“The high white tent is where the big bugs’ll be. You keep away from
that or they’ll hustle you. Them secret service ducks got to make a
flash. They won’t let you in a mile o’ the President. The airship
stable is the wooden house between the tent and them barracks. An’ you
keep your eye peeled. They ain’t anxious to have kids around.”
Morey had no trouble. He was frequently told to move on, but this did
not bother him. Long before the President and the other important
guests had arrived at the tent of honor the boy was a part of the group
before the airship house. He forgot Amos, Betty and even Lieutenant
Purcell. Pushing through the crowd he kept always in front, and,
whenever it became necessary to clear out the interfering spectators,
Morey was always the first one shoved aside.
In the intervals he saw the mysterious machine, drank in its details,
watched all the fascinating work of preparation, gazed in open-mouthed
wonder on the wizard who was to demonstrate the wonders of the fragile
craft and, when he could, stole nearer to the magic apparatus. When the
tooting band marched across the worn and dusty expanse of the parade
ground, instead of rushing away with the crowd to welcome the Chief
Magistrate and the other distinguished guests, Morey took advantage of
the laxity of the guards to steal up to the shed itself.
On a box sat two men, one of them the celebrated aviator whom Morey
had already seen inspecting the track, and the other a military man.
A workman had already sung out “Skiddoo, kid!” when a familiar voice
stopped the lad. Morey recognized at a glance Lieutenant Purcell, hot
of face, black of hands and in his shirt sleeves, but the soldier in
spite of all.
“Get out!” exclaimed Mr. Wright.
“One moment!” interrupted the officer, laying his hand on the aviator’s
arm and whispering to him: “Come here,” he added, motioning to Morey.
“This is Morey, isn’t it?” he smiled, extending his soiled hand. “I’m
awfully glad to see you. Did you get the rod and my note? And what are
you doing here? Excursion?”
“I drove here,” responded Morey, a little abashed, “and I came--I
reckon--I came to find you.”
“To see me? Well, that’s good of you. Are you alone?”
“Amos is with me,” laughed Morey. “Your friend, the colored boy.”
“Oh, I remember,” laughed the officer. “I hope he is well.”
“Well and hungry,” answered Morey. And then he blushed.
“You came to see me?” went on the officer. “Then I hope, as soon as I
am through with our afternoon’s work, to see you at my quarters. Ask
any one for my house. Come for dinner and bring Amos. I must make my
peace with the boy.” And he laughed again.
“Did you ever see an aeroplane before?” inquired Mr. Wright politely,
as if feeling that he had to say something.
“I was around Mr. Curtiss’ shop a good deal last month,” explained
Morey, “and I’ve done some gliding myself.”
“Oh I see,” interrupted Lieutenant Purcell. “Then you are interested.”
“I certainly am,” said Morey. “That’s why I came here to see you. I
want to consult you about an idea I have--it was my father’s.”
Mr. Wright smiled.
“They’ve all got it,” he remarked.
“They haven’t all got this,” replied Morey abruptly. “Even _you_
haven’t got it. But I think you will have it, some day.”
Both men looked at him questioningly.
“Well,” answered Mr. Wright with a laugh, “we try a new idea every day.
Perhaps yours is the one we are after.”
As the two men heard the sound of a bugle they sprang to their feet.
“Can I help you launch her?” asked Morey anxiously.
Mr. Wright laughed again.
“Why not?” he answered. “If you have ideas about these machines you
certainly will beat these clumsy soldiers.”
“Take off your coat, Morey,” remarked the Lieutenant, “and get busy.
Then, when we are through, we’ll see about your idea.”