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.