Dick Hamilton's Airship Part 22

Meanwhile the Abaris had been slowly nearing earth, and it was this slowness, caused by the gradual "sifting" down that would make it possible to land her with scarcely a jar.

If you have ever seen a kite come down when the wind has died out, you will understand exactly what this "sifting" is. It means gliding downward in a series of acute angles.

The first alarm over, all was now serene aboard d.i.c.k's airs.h.i.+p. The attempt to start the motor had been given up, and under the supervision of Mr. Vardon the two cadets, Innis and Paul, took turns in bringing the craft down with the engine "dead." The aviator and his helper had had experience enough at this.

"Say, this is something new, guiding as big a s.h.i.+p as this without power," remarked Innis, as he relinquished the wheel to Paul.

"It sure is," said tile latter. Then, a little later, he called out:

"I say, somebody relieve me, quick. I believe I'm going to bring her down in that creek!"

They all looked ahead and downward. The Abaris, surely enough, was headed for a stream of water.

"Perhaps you'd better handle her," said d.i.c.k to the builder of the craft. "We don't want her wrecked before we at least have a START after that prize."

Mr. Vardon nodded, and took the wheel from Paul. A few seconds later he had brought the craft to the ground within a few feet of the edge of the stream. Had it been a wider and deeper one they could have landed on it by using the hydroplanes, but the water seemed too shallow and full of rocks for that evolution.

And so skillfully had Mr. Vardon manipulated the planes and levers that the landing was hardly felt. A number of specially-made springs took up the jar.

"Well, we're here!" exclaimed d.i.c.k, as they all breathed in relief.

"Now to see what the trouble was."

"And we've got a long walk back home, in case we can't find the trouble," sighed Innis, for he was rather stout, and did not much enjoy walking. They had come down several miles from Hamilton Corners.

"Oh, we'll get her fixed up somehow," declared d.i.c.k, with confidence.

Quite a throng had gathered from the little country hamlet, on the edge of which the aircraft had descended, and they crowded up about the Abaris, looking in wonder at her size and strange shape.

Mr. Vardon lost no time in beginning his hunt for the engine trouble, and soon decided that it was in the gasolene supply, since, though the tank was nearly full, none of the fluid seemed to go into the carburetor.

"There's a stoppage somewhere," the aviator said. The fluid was drawn off into a reserve tank and then the cause of the mischief was easily located.

A small piece of cotton waste had gotten into the supply pipe, and completely stopped the flow of gasolene.

"There it is!" cried the aviator, as he took it out, holding it up for all to see.

"I wonder if anyone could have done that on purpose?" asked d.i.c.k, looking at his chums, reflectively.

"You mean--Larson?" inquired Jack b.u.t.t. "He's capable of anything like that."

"But he wasn't near the machine," said Paul.

"Not unless he sneaked in the barn some night," went on the machinist, who seemed to have little regard for the former lieutenant.

"Well, there's no way of telling for certain, so we had better say nothing about it," decided d.i.c.k. "Then, too, any of us might have accidentally dropped the waste in the tank while we were working around the s.h.i.+p. I guess we'll call it an accident."

"But it must have been in the tank for some time," argued Larry Dexter, "and yet it only stopped up the pipe a little while ago."

"It was probably floating around in the tank, doing no damage in particular," explained Mr. Vardon. "Then, when we made the s.h.i.+p tilt that way, to test the stabilizer, the gasolene s.h.i.+fted, and the waste was flushed into the pipe. But we're all right now."

This was proved a little later when the motor was started with no trouble whatever. There was not a very good place to make a start, along the edge of the stream, but d.i.c.k and his chums realized that they could not always have perfect conditions, so they must learn to do under adverse ones.

"Look out of the way!" warned the young millionaire to the a.s.sembled crowd. They scattered from in front of the craft. The motor throbbed and thundered up to high speed, and then the propellers were thrown into gear. The big blades beat on the air, the s.h.i.+p moved slowly forward. It acquired speed, and then, amid the wondering comments and excited shouts of the crowd, it soared aloft, and glided through the air to a great height.

"Off again!" cried d.i.c.k, who was at the wheel.

The trip back to Hamilton Corners was made safely, and without incident worthy of mention. The four young men took turns in working the various controls, so as to become familiar with them, and d.i.c.k paid particular attention to Larry Dexter, who needed some coaching.

"I'll get a good story out of this for my paper," said the young reporter, who was always on the lookout for "copy."

"Well, we've proved that she will fly, and take care of us even when an accident happens," remarked d.i.c.k, when the craft had been put back in the barn. "Now we'll groom her a bit, put on the finis.h.i.+ng touches, and we'll be ready to try for that prize. The time is getting short now."

"I hope you win it," said Mr. Vardon. "I shall feel responsible, in a way, if you don't."

"Nothing of the sort!" cried d.i.c.k. "Whatever happens, I've got a fine airs.h.i.+p, and we'll have a good time, even if we don't get the twenty thousand dollars."

The next week was a busy one, for there were several little matters about the airs.h.i.+p that needed attention. But gradually it was made as nearly perfect as possible.

Then, one morning, Mr. Hamilton, who had some business to transact with Uncle Ezra, said to d.i.c.k:

"Could you take a run over there and leave him these securities? He asked me to get them for him out of the safe deposit box. I don't know what he wants of them, but they are his, and I have no time to take them to him myself. You can go in your airs.h.i.+p, if you like, and give him a surprise."

"No, I think I'll go in the auto. Mr. Vardon is making a change in the motor, and it isn't in shape to run today. I'll take the boys over to Dankville in the small car."

A little later d.i.c.k and his chums were on their way to Uncle Ezra's.

They reached Dankville in good time, but, on calling at the house, Aunt Samantha told them her husband was at the woolen mill.

"We'll go down there and see him," decided d.i.c.k, after talking to his aunt a little while. She had been looking in the parlor to see that, by no chance, had a glint of light gotten in. Of late her husband and his airs.h.i.+p-partner, Larson, had not used the "best room," and so Aunt Samantha's fears about the carpet being spoiled by cigar ashes had subsided.

At the factory d.i.c.k was directed, by a foreman, to an unused wing of the building.

"You'll find your uncle in there," the man said to d.i.c.k. "He's building an airs.h.i.+p!"

"A what!" cried the young millionaire in great astonishment, for he had been too busy, of late, to hear any news from Dankville.

"An airs.h.i.+p--a biplane, I believe they're called," the foreman went on.

"Well, I'll be gum-swizzled!" cried d.i.c.k, faintly. "Come on, fellows.

The world must be coming to an end, surely."

As he started to enter the part of the factory whither he had been directed, his uncle, plainly much excited, came out.

"Stop where you be, Nephew Richard!" he warned. "Don't come in here!

Stay back!"

"Why, what in the world is the matter?" asked d.i.c.k. "Is something going to blow up?"