Battling the Clouds Part 12

"I rather think not," said Ernest, clapping Bill on the shoulder. "I guess if you were in _my_ boat, with no mother to do things for, you would be glad enough to give up a thing like that. What do you care _what_ they say?"

"I don't," declared Bill, "only they always give people the impression that I am afraid. And I am not."

"Of course you are not!" exclaimed Ernest. "That bores me awf'ly! Let's get my little boat out. You don't mind skating around the field, do you?"

"Tickled to death!" said Bill eagerly, and hastened into a place in the trim, beautiful little plane.

The moment they were set in motion he saw that the plane was a wonder.

It answered to the slightest touch of the wheel or levers and rode the humps on the field with a motion that told Bill, experienced as he was in that part of the sport, that it was made of the finest possible materials.

His admiration finally burst into speech.

"What a beauty this is!" he roared over the blast of the throbbing engine.

The young pilot turned a lever, and the racket subsided into a soft, steady humming.

Bill repeated his remark. Ernest stopped the plane and, getting out, commenced to adjust the engine.

"I see she needs a little tuning up this morning," he said, pulling off his gauntlets and fishing a screwdriver out of one of the many pockets in his aviator's coat. Bill joined him.

"It _is_ a good machine," admitted Ernest. "I am certainly proud to own it. It is too good a machine for me but I am as careful of it as I know how to be. I think so much of it that I never try any fool stunts with it. Dad says it was worth all he put into it just on that account. He says that perhaps I would forget to take care of my own safety, but he is sure I will never fail to look after this little pet. For instance, when I was learning to fly three years ago (and I don't consider that I really know how to do it yet) they tried to din it into me that I must always keep the tail of my machine a little higher than the nose, in case the engine should go dead when I wasn't expecting it."

"What would happen then?" asked Bill, deeply interested.

"Well, if the aeroplane is correctly balanced with the tail a little higher than the nose it will be ready for a glide if the engine goes dead, and on the other hand it is apt to lose headway, and go down tail first. And that, you know," added Ernest, laughing, "is often very uncomfortable for the occupants of the car."

"I should say so!" agreed Bill.

"Chaps make such a mistake trying to build their own cars," said Ernest.

"More accidents come from that than people realize. While the war was going on, no one had time to tinker at building, but now half the chaps I know are studying up and attempting to make aeroplanes for themselves.

"It just can't be done. For instance, every piece of wood used in a machine must be tested with the greatest care. A chap can't do that himself. Every piece of wire used has got to be stretched in a machine specially invented for the purpose. For instance, to find the breaking strain of a piece of wire, a piece fifteen inches long is placed between the jaws of a standard testing machine, so that a length of ten inches of the wire is clear between the two ends. What they call the 'load' is then put on by means of a handle at the rate of speed of about one inch a minute. You can't do this yourself, and by the time you have sent your wire, or have taken it where the test can be applied, and have also had the test made on the twist of your wire, and all the woodwork, you will have a machine that will cost more than one made by skilled workmen.

There is another test too that is very necessary. That is for your wing fabric. It ought all to be soaked in salt water. If the fabric has been varnished, the salt will soften it. Then dry the sample in the sun and if it neither stretches nor shrinks, you will know that it is all right, and you will feel safe about using it."

"I took in all I could learn, without actually going up, at the Aviation field at Sill," said Bill. "I will get my chance some day. I wrote mother this morning, telling her about our trip and all, and I asked her if she thought she would sometime feel like letting me fly. I didn't _ask_ her to let me, you know, but I have a hunch that something might happen sometime and I might almost have to fly. So I told her just how I felt about it. Whatever she says goes."

"That's a good sport!" said Ernest, smiling. "It seems to me that I would be willing to give up anything in the world if I could have my mother alive to make sacrifices for. Of course I have dad, and he is a corking pal and just an all-round dear, but a chap's mother is different, somehow. I think you were wise to write that letter, for you never know what might come up. If your mother is what I should think she is, she will understand that you are not trying to fix a loophole for yourself or tying a string to your word of honor."

"No, she won't think that," said Bill positively. "Mother and I understand each other. I can trust her and she knows she can trust me.

It makes things nice all around. She will be _crazy_ about this machine of yours. Perhaps she will take a little glide with you, if she doesn't feel like actually going up. She has promised to come on and spend the Thanksgiving vacation with me."

"Good work! That makes me feel glad that I can't go home. I am going to stay right through the whole year and put in some extra work during the vacations."

"Mom will like you too," said Bill. "She will want to know all about the plane, and when she gets through listening she will know 'most as much as you do. There is one thing I am afraid of, if I should fly, and that is spinning. Now if you begin to side-slip, either outward or inward, you are apt to commence to spin, and--well, there is usually a speedy and more or less painless end to you and your hopes."

"I think, Bill, that you will have no trouble in learning to control a machine when your mother feels like releasing you from your promise. I knew of a fellow once who made a long and successful flight with no preparation at all other than what he had learned from books and observation."

"I don't believe I would want to try anything like that," laughed Bill, "but I am stowing away all I can gather here and there."

"The thing for you to do," said Ernest, "is to roll around the fields every chance you get. I will be glad to take you with me any day or every day that you feel like going. Of course you won't have very much time after to-day except on Sat.u.r.days. To-morrow cla.s.ses will be in full swing. Get in now and take my seat."

Ernest tucked his screwdriver deep in his pocket, pulled his goggles over his eyes and, seating himself behind Bill, directed his actions. A thrilling two hours followed for Bill.

When at last they returned to the vicinity of the hangar from which they had started, they found an excited and angry group around Horace Jardin's aeroplane. Something was wrong with it and the two mechanics working over it were unable to find out why the machine refused to fly.

It refused, indeed, to rise from the ground and the engine worked with a peculiar jolt. The sound of the bugle from the high ground in front of the mess hall called them to lunch and they went off, leaving the men still at work. Horace was in a very bad humor, and as usual indulged himself in a number of foolish threats, the least of which was to sc.r.a.p the whole machine.

"I will do it sure as shooting!" he bl.u.s.tered. "If that machine isn't going to come up to the maker's guarantee, I will make my dad get me one that will. I won't tinker round with any one-horse bunch of junk like this looks to be."

"Give it a chance," suggested Bill soothingly.

"Not a darned chance!" declared Jardin. "I tell you my father promised me an aeroplane, and he has got to come across with a good machine! He will do it, too. He's too stuck on me to risk my being hurt. And he knows it is not my fault. I can fly all right."

"Don't junk it, anyhow," said Frank anxiously.

"Want to buy it?" asked Bill.

"I might," said Frank, "provided Horace doesn't charge too much."

"If she won't fly, I will sell her to you for five hundred dollars,"

declared Horace. "You can tie a string to her, and Bill here can have her to lead around the lot."

"That's a go," said Frank. Everyone laughed, but a look of cunning suddenly flamed in Frank's eyes. He commenced to lay a train for Jardin's anger to burn upon, a sort of fuse leading up to the explosion Frank wished. He cast a quick glance at the others. It was evident that they took the whole conversation as a joke. But Frank, with an arm over Jardin's hunched shoulders, commenced pouring into his willing ears a stream of abuse directed at the makers of Horace's beautiful plane, and an account, invented on the spot, of divers people who had thrown over their planes for just the reason which had so angered Horace. Frank, with his real working knowledge of flying learned at the greatest of schools, was able to talk in a most convincing manner. Horace, sunk in a sullen silence, listened closely.

CHAPTER X

The first week of school, full of adjustments and experiments, pa.s.sed with the greatest swiftness. The boys were soon accustomed to their surroundings and threw themselves with enthusiasm into their studies and drill. Every possible moment was spent on the aviation field. Bill was learning every quirk and crank of such work as he could do in Ernest's plane without leaving the ground.

The mechanicians still worked on Horace Jardin's plane, but seemed to make no headway. Horace threatened one thing and then another, ready to take the advice of whoever stood nearest. Frank made it a point to be that person as often as possible. He fretted no longer about money, a fact that pleased Bill.

Then Sat.u.r.day came, and things commenced to happen.

First was the usual rush for the morning mail at eight o'clock. There was a letter from Mrs. Sherman, which Bill carried into the deserted library to read. He always wanted to be alone when he read his mother's letters. They were so dear and so precious, and seemed so nearly as though she herself was speaking to him, that he hated to be in a crowd of careless, chaffing boys.

When he had read half the long, closely written pages, however, he gave a shout and hustling down the corridor to the chemistry room, burst in upon Ernest who was doing some extra work there.

"Hey, Ern!" cried Bill, waving the letter. "Hear this! My mother is a peach if there ever _was_ one!"

The elder boy laughed. "I bet she says you can fly," he guessed.

"Just that. Listen!"

Bill hastily hunted for the right place.

"'You know, darling' ... no, that's not it," he hastily corrected himself. "Here it is. 'Perhaps I have been selfish in asking you not to try your wings until you are older. Your dad a.s.sures me that you are an expert with your automobile and says that there are no age limit flyers.