E-text prepared by Al Haines

AROUND THE WORLD IN TEN DAYS

by

CHELSEA CURTIS FRASER

Author of "Work-a-Day Heroes," "Secrets of the Earth,"
"Boys' Book of Battles," "Boys' Book of Sea Fights,"
"The Young Citizens Own Book," etc.

The World Publishing Company
Cleveland, Ohio ——— New York City

Copyright, MCMXXII, By
The World Syndicate Publishing Company
Printed in the United States of America

PREFACE

In the infancy of aviation, the early 1920's, no one dreamed that the close of the decade would see it firmly and permanently established—a leader among the nation's industries. Heavier-than-air flight is perhaps the most amazing contribution of the 20th century.

It is easy to thrill to the seeming marvels of our own times, but only the short-sighted thinker believes in the perfection of present scientific progress. The 300-mile-an-hour airplane which Fraser conceived in this book for the speed of the Sky-Bird II was little more than so many words when he wrote it. . . . today we have 400-mile-an-hour fighting planes. Today we have in this country an intricate highway system, but perhaps within your own lifetime our highways, and the automobiles which skim over them, will be laughed at as obsolete and useless.

Thus it is that "the seemingly impossible of the fiction of today becomes outdone by the facts of tomorrow," as the author aptly phrased it.

In 1920 the idea of going around the world in ten days was as preposterous as that projected by Jules Verne in 1873 when he wrote Around the World in Eighty Days. But time has a way of hurling ridicule back as effectively as a boomerang. For we have seen and marvelled at the shattering not only of the mythical eighty-day record but even the ten-day record, as progress wends its ceaseless, ambitious, difficult and almost fantastic way through the years.

And so it will be gratifying and, no doubt, amazing to many to read this book and realize the advancement made in aviation since this story was written by Mr. Fraser, and how many of the ideas he prophesied for airplane advancement that have materialized in less than a score of years.

Around-the-world flyers, even the most recent, have all flown more or less northerly routes, not following the equatorial belt, which is, as we all know, the earth's greatest circumference. It is this course that our four young heroes take in Sky-Bird II, a plane designed and constructed by themselves, containing many features that aeronautics now takes for granted, and some not yet realized, which are, nevertheless, "within the scope of mechanical science," as Fraser says.

So, it is our opinion, young readers, that in addition to enjoying an exciting story, you will benefit by carefully reading the technical passages, and in doing so, learn to observe your present-day surroundings with a greater perspective—thus adding infinitely greater interest to your view of the world today!

THE PUBLISHERS.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I PAUL AND BOB II THE BROTHERS' INVENTION III THE SUCCESSFUL MODEL IV PLANNING A BIG AIRPLANE V AN AIR RACE FINISH AND A CHALLENGE VI THE MISSING BLUE-PRINTS VII WHO'S AT THE WINDOW? VIII THE SKY-BIRD II IX THE TEST FLIGHT X FINAL PREPARATIONS XI OFF FOR PANAMA XII FIGHTING A DEVIL-FISH XIII THE STRANGE AIRPLANE XIV A FAMILIAR FACE XV THE START XVI TRICKED BY RIVALS XVII ACROSS THE ATLANTIC XVIII AN IRRITATING DELAY XIX SAVED BY THE SEARCHLIGHT XX A JUNGLE ADVENTURE XXI THE DOUBLE LOOP XXII ABOVE THE CLOUDS XXIII BOMBED BY ROCKS XXIV RIDING AN AIRPLANE'S TAIL XXV ENGULFED IN A VOLCANO'S DUST XXVI IN AUSTRALIA XXVII PAUL VERSUS PETE XXVIII A MIX-UP IN DATES XXIX A FLYING RESCUE XXX AN ALARMING DISCOVERY XXXI THE FINISH

Around the World in Ten Days

CHAPTER I

PAUL AND BOB

"Did you say this big Air Derby around the world takes place this coming summer, Bob?"

"So dad told me at the breakfast table this morning, Paul. The plans have just been completed. He said full details would be in to-day's papers."

"And the afternoon edition is out now, for there's a newsie just ahead of us who is calling out the Daily Independent. That's your father's newspaper, too."

"It will be in there sure pop, Paul."

"Then I'm going to get a copy right now."

The two youths, who but a few moments before had come out of the broad doors of the Clark Polytechnic Institute along with a noisy throng of other students, paused when they reached the newsboy in question, and the taller of the pair bought a newspaper which he shoved into an inner pocket of his raincoat.

"We'll look at this in the car on our way home; a fellow can't do any reading in a storm like this," said the purchaser. "Let's hurry up a bit, Bob; I'm so eager to see what it says about that Derby that I can hardly wait to get to the station. Say, just think of it—a race around the world by air! Won't that be great?"

"I'll say so, Paul old boy! They ought to smash all existing records. You know that a man named Mears made the circuit in thirty-five days about seven years ago, and he had to depend on slow steam trains and steamships, aided by a naphtha-launch."

"That's true, Bob. Now that we have planes we ought to do a lot better. But the big oceans are the trouble for aircraft. The Atlantic has been crossed by Alcock and Brown in a Vimy-Vickers biplane, and also by our NC-4 flying-boat under the command of Lieutenant Read, and by the big English dirigible R-34; but the Pacific, with its greater breadth, has seemed so impossible that it has never been attempted."

"Why should it seem impossible?"

"Because they can't carry sufficient gasoline to cross the Pacific."

"But how about the islands?"

"The majority are not level enough to permit a landing, and others are too widely scattered. I have made quite a study of transoceanic flight since Harry Hawker and his partner, Grieve, made their unsuccessful attempt last spring to cross the Atlantic in a Sopwith machine, and for my part I can't see how this proposed Derby around the world can all be done by air, when no machine has ever yet been able to hop the Pacific."

"Well, Paul, we'll soon be at the station out of this storm, and then we can see what the paper says about it," was the philosophical conclusion of his companion.

With that they hurried on down the street, bowing their heads to ward off the sharp sleet as much as possible, while they gripped their school-books under their arms. They were a splendid-looking pair of young Americans, probably about eighteen years old, and the manner in which they swung along through the disagreeable drizzle, paying scant attention to it as they laughed and talked, showed them to be full of that boundless energy and gaiety of spirits which only perfect health and participation in athletics can bestow.

As Paul Ross and Robert Giddings approached the next corner, a young man with umbrella held low in front of him hurried around it and ran into a small Italian girl who was carrying a basket of fruit. She was staggered by the collision; her basket was knocked from her arm, and the oranges began to roll in every direction. The child broke into tears, but the cause of her misfortune only paused long enough to say angrily, "Confound you, you careless little beggar! Why don't you watch where you are going?" and hurried on his way.

"Say, Paul, did you see the way that swarthy-faced chap used that little girl?" cried Bob indignantly.

"I certainly did," was the no less indignant answer. "That lazy dog ought to be horse-whipped. Let's help the child."

Both boys fell to work with a will, rescued the escaping oranges, and tucked them back in their owner's basket. Then, with her grateful thanks ringing in their ears, they hurried on once more.

After they had gone a few steps, Paul Ross observed:

"Bob, I've seen that fellow before. That was Pete Deveaux. He used to be an Air Mail pilot on the same run as my brother John, but was discharged for drunkenness. Since that he has blamed John, and has written him several threatening letters, but is too cowardly to face him."

By this time they had reached the West 137th Street station of the suburban railroad which runs between the metropolis and various shore towns along the picturesque Hudson. They were just in time to catch a train, and found a comfortable seat in a rear coach. Then Paul brought forth the newspaper he had purchased. What they sought was found on the very first page, prominently displayed under a black-faced heading.

"Read it aloud, Paul," suggested Bob, and his friend proceeded to do so. The article was to the effect that the Aero Club of America, in conjunction with eminent aviation associations of the kind in Europe and Asia, had planned to stimulate interest in flying by holding an aircraft race around the world, which would start on the morning of July 4th. All contestants must be at least twenty-one years of age, and furnish an entrance fee of two hundred dollars. They might use any type of aircraft they chose, and could carry as many assistants as they wished, even utilizing trains or steamships, if not less than three-fourths of their journey were made by air; and they must stop at least once in each of four continents, and cross the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. Aside from these provisions, the selection of route was left entirely to each contestant. Then followed an imposing list of names of well-known flyers who, it was said, had signified their intention of competing. The article wound up with the statement that prizes aggregating a million dollars would be offered the winners.

"One million dollars!" exclaimed Bob Giddings. "Paul, old man, you'd better go in for this!"

Paul Ross's eyes sparkled, but the next moment he laughed and shook his head. "I surely would like to," said he, "but there are just three little things in the way of it."

"I suppose you need a machine for one thing?"

"Yes—and you must admit that's a good-sized item. Second, I need two hundred dollars to enter—something I don't happen to have, and something I know mother can't spare in such a hazard. Third, I need three years added to my age in order to be eligible."

"It does look rather hopeless for you, that's a fact," admitted Bob. "That second handicap might be overcome with my father's help, but the other two are real obstacles."

"It's mighty nice of you and your father, Bob, to wish to help me out in this fashion," said Paul; "but, as you state, the other drawbacks cannot be swept aside so easily. Perhaps later on, another 'round the world Air Derby will be pulled off, and I shall have a chance to enter it."

"Well, if you do, don't forget to count me in as an assistant," declared his friend. "Nothing would please me better than to make a trip like that with you, Paul."

"You certainly shall be welcome if the time ever comes. By the way, Bob, John and I have designed a new type of monoplane in our spare time, and for the past two months I have been busy making a three-foot model of this. I hope to finish it in a day or two, and I want you to go with me over to the old fair-grounds next Saturday afternoon and give it a test flight, if you will."

Bob Giddings was all interest at once, and plied his friend with many questions concerning his new model, many others of which he had in times past helped Paul fly with the keenest delight. The truth is, Paul Ross and his brother John, the latter a pilot in the government Air Mail service, were known all over the State of New York as makers of the best-flying model airplanes to be found anywhere. Ever since they were small boys in grammar school, the brothers had been constructing miniature monoplanes, biplanes, and seaplanes, which they had pitted against the best product of other lads in the neighborhood and surrounding towns, without once meeting defeat. Many of these specimens of youthful ingenuity they still preserved, suspended in bedroom and attic, where they were a never-ending source of interest to visitors at the Ross homestead in the outskirts of Yonkers.

The war had called John into the aviation service of his country, but Paul had still continued his experiments in making tiny airplanes, getting his friend Robert Giddings, who lived in a fine house on Shadynook Hill, to assist him in the flying. Thrown together by their mutual love for mechanics, and being in the same classes all through high-school, Paul and Bob had formed a strong attachment for each other, although the latter's home was far more pretentious than the former's, since Paul's mother was a widow in only moderately comfortable circumstances, while Bob's father was the editor and owner of the Daily Independent, one of the leading evening newspapers of New York City.

When John returned from the war it was with an incurable passion for flying, and within a few months he had re-entered the service of his country in the peaceful but dangerous work of carrying Uncle Sam's mails between Washington and New York in a big Martin bomber. He found that his younger brother's love for aviation had also developed, as well as his skill in constructing and flying model airplanes. Some of these recent ones were so novel in design and of such wonderfully ingenious workmanship, that John, who had won unusual honors as an aviator on the French front, was quite thunderstruck, and determined to encourage Paul's talents in this line in every way he could. Therefore, when the boy graduated from the Yonkers high school, and expressed a wish to take up a special course in aeronautical engineering at Clark Polytechnic Institute, John backed him up, and the mother, who would have preferred a less hazardous profession for her younger son, sighingly consented.

Paul's chum, Robert Giddings, had also gone to Clark Polytechnic upon leaving high school, his ambition being to become an electrical engineer. Thus both boys continued to be thrown in daily contact. It was their habit to go into the city to school each morning in the sedan with Mr. Giddings; but as he left the city late in the afternoon they usually took the train back.

As the friends now parted, Bob Giddings' last words were: "Don't forget to get that new model airplane done by Saturday, Paul. I'm crazy to see it."

"I'll be ready for you," was Paul's assurance; "but remember to keep this under your hat. It's to be a secret test, you know."

"Trust me," said Bob.

CHAPTER II

THE BROTHERS' INVENTION

When Paul Ross reached home that afternoon, it was to find someone there whom he had not expected to see. A tall, broad-shouldered young man, with a bronzed face and pleasant blue eyes, sat in the living-room, talking to his mother.

Paul rushed forward and joyfully grasped his brown hand. "Why, John!" he exclaimed, "I didn't expect to find you here!"

"Of course you didn't, Buddy," was the smiling response of the young man, who was wont to call his younger brother by this affectionate war-mate term. "The fact is, as I was just telling mother, two days ago I didn't know myself that I would be anywhere at this hour except speeding through the air between New York and Washington on my usual mail run in my trusty old Martin-bird. As it is, Buddy, it looks now as if neither you nor I would ever handle her controls again." There was a note of sadness in John's voice as he said this.

"Why, what's the matter, John?" asked Paul quickly.

"It's this way, lad: You know I told you and mother a couple of weeks ago, when I was here on my last regular lay-over, that Congress was talking about cutting a big slice out of the Air Mail appropriation, in order to reduce expenses. Well, the upshot of it all is, they made the cut, and not having enough money to carry on the service as it has been, the head of the Air Mail has ordered the abandonment of all flying divisions except the main line between New York and San Francisco. Only those pilots will be kept. So that's why I am here."

"Won't they take you on again soon, John?" asked Mrs. Ross.

"I fear not, mother," replied her elder son, shaking his head soberly. "Our field-superintendent did say that he would give me the first opening in the transcontinental line, since my records lead the bunch, and he even offered to displace one of the boys on that route and put me in his place, but—"

"But you refused," interrupted Paul, with conclusive pride in his big brother.

John grinned. "Well, put it that way if you like, Buddy," said he; "anyhow, as I said before, here I am. Some chap may quit or 'go West'—you know a round dozen of the poor chaps have been killed in the last year—and that may let me back in again. But I won't wait for it; I'll get after some of the commercial flying companies next week and see if I can't land a berth with them. I simply can't think of working on the ground. I guess I should have been born a bird, mother, instead of a human being, I love flying so much."

"I really believe you would be safer if you were a bird, John," asserted Mrs. Ross, with an uneasy smile. "Birds have no motors to fail them, no fire to ignite and burn them up, as our present airplanes. How many of your own unfortunate associates can lay their untimely deaths to either one of these causes! It was only the last time you were here that you were telling Paul and me about the terrible fall Howard Smith had because his motor stopped, and how his machine ignited, and how he was burned past recognition."

"I know," said the veteran airman; "those things will happen at times, mother, even with the most careful fellows. The time will come, I think, and very soon, when stalled motors can be restarted in the air, and when accidentally ignited fuel will burn itself out with no harm to either the machine or its occupants. The fact is, Paul and I have some ideas now as to how to overcome those very troubles, along with other improvements, and the first chance we get we are going to build an airplane along these lines and put it to the test, aren't we, Buddy?"

"We surely are," was Paul's enthusiastic response. "One of these fine days, mother, when we get our patents and sell them, you shall live in as fine a home as the Giddings's over on Shadynook Hill, and when you wish to go into the city to do any shopping, John or I will take you in a beautiful sedan airplane which will be safer than an automobile, and which will be guaranteed not to raise a dust or wear out tires."

Mrs. Ross laughed heartily at the glowing picture her second son had drawn, more because he spoke with such seriousness, and because John too wore a matter-of-fact look during the prophecy.

"Oh, I have some great dreamers here in this little family," she said, as she arose to resume her household duties. "We will hope that some of your dreams come true."

Her sons laughed good-naturedly; then Paul turned to his brother. "Come on down in the basement, John," he said; "I wish to show you our latest miniature model, the Sky-Bird. Another day's work ought to finish it."

John followed him downstairs. In one corner of the large basement was a good-sized workbench, lighted by two windows, and equipped with several neatly-arranged shelves, which now held a divers collection of chisels, bits, countersinks, etc. In a splendid oak cabinet attached to the wall above was a more extensive array of wood- and metal-working tools, some of which the brothers had bought with money earned at odd jobs when they were still small boys. Since, they had added to their set from time to time, as they needed this tool or that, until now few professional mechanics could boast of a finer assortment.

Suspended from a hook directly over the bench was a beautiful six-foot model of a racy-looking monoplane of peculiar and striking design. It was glistening in several coats of spar-varnish, and so light and delicate was its spidery frame that, as John reached out to take it in his hand, the exhalation of his breath set it swaying away from him.

"My word, it's a light boy all right!" exclaimed John admiringly, as he carefully took hold of the pretty thing. "That's just the feature we've tried to get, too, Buddy,—lightness." He looked closely at the long, graceful pair of wings, which were of an unusual thickness and a slight upward thrust like those of a bird, and which widened batlike as they ran back and joined the rear fuselage or body of the craft. "Have you put the helium-gas in these wings yet, Paul, as we planned? I see you have installed the valves. There's a valve in the after-fuselage, too."

"The wings and fuselage are both filled," said Paul; "that is what makes the Sky-Bird so light. If you had brought more helium the last time you were here, I could have pumped in twice the quantity, I think, and that would have made her so light she would rise of her own accord, I really believe. As it is, she now weighs less than a half-ounce. I had the scales on her yesterday."

John shared his brother's enthusiasm. "Fine!" he cried, with sparkling eyes. "Why, that's almost a neutral condition, as she is! Buddy, if we can apply this principle to a full-size machine—and I don't know why we can't—we shall have solved the biggest problem facing airplane designers to-day. With a machine weighing only a trifle more than her load of fuel and baggage, she will not only fly a lot faster but go a lot farther, with a given supply of fuel, than the present-day planes. And what is more, she could attain good speed with a single engine of reasonable power, where now many machines are handicapped with the burdensome weight of an extra power-plant. When will she be ready to test out?"

"I had planned to give her a trial in the old fair-grounds Saturday afternoon," said Paul. "I've asked Bob Giddings to go along."

"That's all right; Bob is a fine lad," said John; "but since you have set the trial for Saturday afternoon, and Bob's father is usually at home at that time, why don't you ask him to view the affair also? I'm sure he would enjoy it. He's a great sportsman, you know, like most newspaper men, and considerably interested in aeronautics."

"I had not thought of it; I'll do it," was the prompt response of Paul. "But we must warn him to silence, John. Whatever happens, we don't wish this to get into the Daily Independent."

"I'd say not," rejoined the former Air Mail pilot sententiously. "Mum's the word; we've got something here, Buddy. Unless I'm greatly mistaken we'll be consulting with the Patent Office at Washington much sooner than little mother anticipates." He poked Paul in the ribs as he spoke, and both young men gave vent to a low chuckle of intense satisfaction. It was an even greater pleasure to look forward to surprising their mother than to astonishing the world and winning its plaudits.

As good an airplane mechanic and flyer as John Ross was, his younger brother was little behind him in the matter of skill in handling a modern machine. It had been John's habit to return to Yonkers every two weeks for a week's lay-off, as customary with other pilots in the Air Mail service. On these occasions he had arrived in his plane, and during the term of his stay had often taken Paul up into the air for pleasure flights, as well as his chum Bob Giddings. Both boys were keen students, and it was not long before John could trust them to operate his big Martin with every confidence. Once, indeed, he and Paul had been caught over Long Island Sound in a bad storm, when the latter was in the pilot's seat, but Paul had brought the craft through like a veteran, winning his brother's unstinted praise and undying respect.

CHAPTER III

A SUCCESSFUL MODEL

Mr. Giddings was glad to accept the invitation to the trial flight. He and his son met the Ross boys at the old race-course Saturday afternoon. This immense, level field, with its one-mile oval and great empty sheds, at one time had been the county's boasted fair-grounds, but two years prior to the opening of our story it had been sold to Mr. Giddings, whose residence property stretched down the side of Shadynook Hill and joined it. New fair-grounds had then been established in another and more centrally located section of the district. In the old grounds the boys of the neighborhood now went to fly their kites and model airplanes, to hold impromptu bicycle and foot races, and to play tag and hide-and-go-seek in the cavernous sheds and around the numerous sagging stables.

It was late in the afternoon—just before dusk, when the winds would be at their quietest, and others not likely to be present—that our friends arrived at the field. There was not a soul to be seen. Paul, who had carried his precious Sky-Bird, freed it from the wrapper and held it up for Mr. Giddings to see. The night before he and John had put the finishing touches to the delicate structure by adding another coat of varnish and attaching the little rubber-tired aluminum wheels to the axle.

As Paul now held it up before the gaze of the great newspaper man, Mr. Giddings made no effort to restrain his admiration. "What a little beauty!" he cried. "Why, it's almost a perfect mechanical representation of a bird!"

"Isn't she a dandy, dad?" put in Bob, his eyes snapping.

"The Sky-Bird is really more of a bird than you may think, Mr.
Giddings," declared Paul.

"Yes," added his brother John. "As you probably know, sir, a bird gets its great buoyancy from the fact that every bone in its body is hollow; in flight it fills these bones with a very light gas, which is formed by an action of its lungs in drawing in air. We have adapted this principle in the wings and fuselage of this little machine. They are airtight and filled with compressed helium-gas, which is non-inflammable and nearly as light as its highly volatile rival, hydrogen-gas."

"Hydrogen-gas is surely a dangerous commodity around fire," said Mr. Giddings. "I understand that when the big English dirigible R-34 came across the Atlantic last summer she was filled with hydrogen, and that her commander and crew all wore felt-soled shoes, so that they would not by any chance cause a spark when they walked over her metal floors and ladders just beneath her great bag."

"That is true," vouched John Ross. "One little spark reaching any of that stored hydrogen would have torn that great dirigible into fragments in one gigantic blast."

"We have handled recent newspaper copy containing mention of this new gas, helium; but I must confess I am in the dark regarding its nature and source," said Mr. Giddings. "What is it, anyway?"

"I will refer your question to Paul here," replied John. "He is the one who worked out this idea of using helium in an airplane and giving it the best properties of a dirigible without any of the dirigible's handicap of clumsiness and excessive wind resistance. He has been studying the properties of helium in school, also the flight of birds."

"Well, not to get into a tiresome discourse, as Professor Herron would say, I shall make this description very rudimentary," said Paul, with a smile. "During a total eclipse of the sun in India in 1868, Lockyer, a British astronomer, saw in the spectroscope a bright, yellow line of light around the sun. He called it helium, after the Greek word for sun. So much for him. Twenty-seven years later an element was found on earth in natural-gas in Kansas, which gave the same bright, yellow light viewed through the spectrum. The people, finding it would not burn, disgustedly let millions of barrels of this valuable element escape into the air, before a scientist told them that it was of untold value for balloon and airship purposes. It is thought the gas comes from radium deposits. It has never been found in any country except the United States, and only here in Kansas and northern Texas, where it occurs in sands from 14,000 to 16,000 feet deep. Our government is now securing about 50,000 cubic feet of helium per day, refusing to sell it to foreign countries, as it is all needed here, besides which it might be used against us in case of another war."

While Paul had been telling this, Mr. Giddings had been busy jotting something down in shorthand in a notebook.

"Pardon me, Paul," he said, looking up with a smile, "but this is so mighty interesting that, before I knew it, my old-time reportorial instinct had gotten the best of me, and I found my pencil at work. If you have no objection I should like to use this in the columns of the Daily Independent some time when it seems to fit in."

"No objection at all, sir," assured Paul.

Mr. Giddings began twirling the little twelve-inch two-bladed propeller at the nose of the model airplane. "What do you use for power to turn this propeller?" he asked, after admiring its perfect proportions for a moment. "I don't see any rubber-bands, such as Robert here has always used on his little machines."

John deftly lifted off the thin veneer hood of the airplane, and disclosed a very small four-cylindered rotary pneumatic engine of bewitching simplicity and lightness, which a baby could have held out in its pudgy palm.

"Paul has worked this little motor out of aluminum and brass and steel, from odds and ends," said John.

"With more or less help on the part of my elder brother," interjected
Paul.

"Well, perhaps with a little," admitted John, "more suggestive than otherwise."

"What sets it going?" questioned Bob, curiously.

"The fuselage is divided into three sections," said Paul. "The forward section contains the engine here; the rear section is an airtight chamber containing helium; and the central section is also an airtight chamber, but contains ordinary air which has been pumped into it through a valve, using the bicycle pump John is carrying, until it is under strong pressure. When I turn this little valve an outlet is opened for the air to escape by a tube into branches communicating with each of these four cylinders. This works the tiny pistons, much the same as gas in a gasoline-motor, and they turn the little crank-shaft to which they are connected, and the crank-shaft in turn revolves the propeller on its end."

"Wonderfully simple!" Mr. Giddings exclaimed. "Wonderfully ingenious, too! Is this your invention, young men?"

"Partly, sir," replied Paul. "I understand, a company in New York is making a somewhat similar pneumatic motor for model airplanes, but John and I have made some radical improvements, to our notion. To-day's test will tell the story."

"Let's see the propeller spin 'er up once for the fun of it," suggested Bob. "It won't do any harm, will it? Dad and I will hold on to the airplane."

"Get a good grip then," warned John Ross, "for you will find there's a terrific pull to the little rascal. Paul and I tried her in that fashion early this morning down in the basement."

Bob and his father secured firm holds of the little Sky-Bird, one on each side, where the propeller could not strike them.

"Ready?" asked Paul, with a smile.

"Ready!" came the answer in unison.

Paul touched the little valve in the tank chamber of the fuselage. The next moment there was a quiver, and then the propeller began fairly to hum. A strong, steady gust of air began to blow in the faces of the Giddingses, while they had to hang on grimly in order to keep their little charge from jumping out of their arms and dashing away into the air. For fully three minutes the propeller continued to whirl with undiminished speed, then slowly it began to slow up, and finally stopped.

Both Mr. Giddings and his son wiped their hot brows as they handed the plane over to its makers.

"Whew!" said Bob, "that little mule has got a lot of pull to her."

"That she has," supplemented his father. "What sort of material is her frame made of?"

"Balsa-wood," said John.

"I never heard of that. Is it something new?"

"Yes,—to the arts of civilization, but I presume it has been used by the Indians of Ecuador, where it grows, for scores of years in the making of rafts, for which it is particularly well adapted. The tree looks much like our southern cottonwood, and the wood apparently has no grain. It has a surprising toughness and strength, and is a trifle over half the weight of cork, weighing only 7.8 pounds per cubic foot, while the same sized piece of cork weighs 13.7 pounds."

"Has this wood ever been used in constructing full-sized airplanes?" asked Mr. Giddings.

"I think not; but Paul and I believe it will be the coming wood for them," said John with enthusiasm. "We have used it plain on this machine. On a large airplane it ought to be reinforced with transverse sections of very thin spruce laid latticewise. That would add considerably to its natural strength, and increase the total weight very little."

"H'm, h'm!" said the great newspaper publisher, "this is very interesting, I am sure. Now let us see how this little affair behaves itself in the air."

Paul and his brother led the way out into one corner of the big field, so as to bring what slight breeze might spring up into the head of the airplane, explaining that machines without a pilot would keep a better keel under such conditions. John then carefully attached the bicycle-pump and recharged the air-tank, following which he took out his watch to time the flight. Mr. Giddings and Bob also took out their watches.

Paul set the little Sky-Bird down on the hard earth, in a spot where there was no grass or other obstacle, and with his finger on the air-valve, said: "Practically all rubber-band motors require starting the model airplane off by picking it up and tossing it away from you up into the air; but I think this machine will rise from the ground like a large plane, on account of its great lightness and unusual power. We will now see if I am right."

To tell the truth, this being the first time he had really tried the Sky-Bird in a flight, Paul was nervous as he turned the valve, removed his hands from the graceful little plane, and straightened up.

With a whirr like the wings of a partridge as it is flushed out of the grass by the huntsman's dog, the small machine shot forward a few feet over the smooth ground, then gracefully arose in the air and started away toward the opposite corner of the field. As it proceeded it continued to rise, until it reached a height of possibly ninety or a hundred feet, when it began to dip unsteadily.

"It's a gust of wind striking it," remarked John uneasily. "I hope she weathers it. If there was only a pilot in her now, he could——"

But even as he spoke the Sky-Bird seemed to recover her balance. Making a pretty circle, away she sped on her course, neither rising nor falling. Like a real bird she sailed onward, the noise of her whirring propeller now lost to her fliers, but her little pale-yellow silk wings against the blue sky plainly tracing her course for them. Paul was running after her now as fast as his legs could carry him. What if she should keep right on and go over the far fence?—he might lose the little darling!

That fence was a good half-mile away. For his pet to cover such a distance had not seemed within the bounds of probability to either himself or John at the start, for all of their great confidence in the flying powers of the new model. Now, as he kept on running and the Sky-Bird continued going with no sign of dropping, Paul really became alarmed for her safety in landing.

But just before it reached the boundary of the grounds, the youth saw that the airplane was slowly settling. Into the next field it flew, and the high board fence shut it from Paul's view as he came up to it. With a jump he caught the top boards, and scrambled up, springing down on the opposite side. It was to see his little machine just miss the branches of an oak tree and settle down into some long grass about a hundred yards beyond.

He found it undamaged, and hurried back to his friends in the fair-grounds, his heart beating jubilantly at the splendid results of the flight. He hugged the small airplane to his heart as if it were the most precious possession in the world, as indeed it was to him.

Mr. Giddings and Bob were loud in their praise, and John smiled in that quiet way that told the younger brother how well pleased he was. It was found that the Sky-Bird had passed over the lower fence in just one minute and three seconds, which was certainly good speed for such a diminutive contrivance. Several other flights were then made, all of which were equally successful. At the conclusion Bob Giddings was so excited that he could hardly stand still.

"Dad, isn't this little thing simply a wonder?" he exclaimed. "I'd give anything in the world if I could own a big fellow built on this principle. I'll bet it would pass anything now made."

His father looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, turning to the Ross brothers, he observed:

"Do you think, boys, that these features could be successfully applied to a full-sized airplane?"

"There's no doubt at all about it, to my mind, sir," replied John Ross. "That's the next thing Paul and I propose doing, although I expect we shall have a hard time getting enough money to meet the expense of materials. Of course we shall have the regular type of gasoline engine in place of this pneumatic arrangement, as this principle won't apply to big machines. I figure a 400 horse-power Liberty engine would carry such a machine two hundred miles an hour."

Again Mr. Giddings was silent a moment. Then he resumed: "John, I hear that you have been laid off from your Air Mail job. Is that right?"

"It is, sir."

"Well, then, I am going to make a proposition to you and Paul, and in a way Robert may consider himself involved, too, I expect. As you may know, Robert plans to be an electrical engineer, and Mrs. Giddings and myself are anxious to encourage him in every way we can. For some time he has been experimenting with wireless telegraph and telephone apparatus, and has made some sets of the latter which it seems to me are an improvement over anything now on the market, particularly a set for airplane use, which he has no means of properly testing out on account of the lack of the airplane. Now my proposition is just this: I will meet every expense of making a first-class full-sized airplane like the Sky-Bird, and pay you, John, a wage equal to that which the government allowed you as a pilot, if you three young men here will do the construction work secretly, and if Robert may be allowed a one-third interest in the venture, both in the plane to be made, and in any future benefits to be derived from the patent rights."

Of course the delighted John and Paul accepted this splendid offer, and Bob Giddings was so happy at the prospect of a fine big airplane in which to install his wireless apparatus that he actually hugged his father. They repaired to the Giddings home, and there, in true business form, a contract was drawn up and duly signed by all interested parties, with a notary's seal attached.

With a copy in their possession, the Ross boys hurried home, after having dinner with the Giddings family, to acquaint Mrs. Ross with the good news.

CHAPTER IV

PLANNING A BIG AIRPLANE

As planned, the much-talked-of Air Derby around the world took place from Mineola Field, New York, on the 4th of July. A great crowd had been attracted, owing to the extensive accounts of the affair in the big newspapers for the past several months, and a thrilling hush fell over the assemblage as, at high noon, one after another of the famous flyers took off in various types of aircraft. There were four big dirigibles, two of which started to cross the Atlantic at once, while the others took a northerly course with the intention of making the final hop from St. John's, Newfoundland, in accordance with several previous attempts of other aircraft. Besides these, seven heavier-than-air machines started, all making for Newfoundland also. Four of these were flying-boats, two were seaplanes, and the other was a double-propellered biplane.

Needless to say, the Ross boys and Bob Giddings and his father were present to see the machines off. They had arrived in the big automobile of the publisher, and were greatly interested in every detail of the departure. Several of the contestants John Ross knew, having met them at some time during his flying periods, and it gave him a chance briefly to renew old acquaintanceship and personally to wish them good luck on their long journey. Of course our friends would have given a whole lot to have been able to compete in the novel contest themselves, but that was out of the question.

When the last machine had disappeared from sight, they took their departure. Mr. Giddings left them at the office of the Daily Independent, following which Bob drove Paul and John out to some of the city's beautiful parks. Late in the afternoon they again stopped at the newspaper building and picked up Bob's father, thereupon turning the car in the direction of Yonkers. Altogether they had passed a very pleasant holiday.

"Robert tells me that your plans for the new airplane, the Sky-Bird II, are just about finished, John," remarked Mr. Giddings, as they sped northward along the smooth surface of Riverside Drive, with its beautiful greenery on the left and its fine residences at the right.

"Yes, sir," said John; "we have been devoting every spare moment to them. Of course a good many changes had to be made to adapt conditions from the little airplane to the big fellow, and to incorporate the extra pet features we all agreed upon were desirable. You know it never pays to start building an important and costly affair like an airplane without having every detail thoroughly planned out, and perfect working drawings in hand. I think Paul will complete the drawings early next week, including copies for accompanying the specifications when we apply to Washington for patent rights. As soon as the drawings are done, we will drop in at your home in the evening and show them to you."

"Good!" said Mr. Giddings. "I shall await them with great interest. I suppose as soon as I approve these drawings, you fellows will all pitch into the actual work."

"We surely will, sir," laughed Paul, while Bob, at the wheel in front, having caught some of the conversation, called back with energy: "That's just the size of it, dad."

"We have everything all ready," continued Paul. "The balsa-wood and spruce we ordered some time ago is on hand, and that will keep us busy until other needed materials arrive. We have repaired the big exhibition building in the old fair-grounds, put on new double doors and purchased a good Yale lock for them. John and I have taken our workbench and tools over there, and Bob has helped us rig up a nice little five-horse power motor and small handsaw, also a circular saw, home-made sand-drum, a small planer, and a boring-machine. That building is dry, and has lots of room in it for housing the new airplane as it grows to maturity. When cold weather comes we can easily install a couple of heating-stoves to keep ourselves comfortable and protect our materials and the machine from frost damage."

Mr. Giddings expressed himself as well pleased with these arrangements. As he noted the foresightedness of the young mechanics his confidence in them expanded.

"Don't hesitate to order anything you need, young men," he said warmly. "Have them send the bills to me. If my trust in you is misplaced, I am willing to stand the consequences. This is not only the best kind of a practical education for Bob, but it is good business training for all of us. Go ahead; go ahead!"

With such strong encouragement, is it any wonder that the three young men continued their operations vigorously? Not one of them scarcely wanted to stop long enough to eat and sleep, a la Edison; and as it was now summer vacation time, Paul and Bob were able to be with John all day long in the old exhibition building. Neighboring boys and even older people hung around the open doors to watch operations, but the builders were careful not to let them get close enough to gain any ideas which might be harmful to their interests.

On Tuesday evening of the week following the start of the Air Derby, John and his brother put on their best clothes and hied themselves over to the Giddings home. In Paul's hand was an envelope containing the precious plans for the Sky-Bird II—completed at last by the young draftsman, and ready to be shown to the financial member of the quartet.

When they were all seated in the Giddings library a little later, Mr. Giddings scrutinized the plans with every evidence of satisfaction written upon his strong features. Now and then he would ask a question, as Paul explained view after view and detail after detail. At length he pointed to an oblong object situated in the pilot's cockpit just under the dashboard. "What is that?" he asked, curiously.

"That is what John and I call an 'automatic pilot,'" answered Paul. "It is a new form of stabilizer, and made so as to overcome the defects of others which are on the market. A stabilizer should automatically keep an airplane on a fairly level keel no matter how air conditions are, even so steady that it will travel along on its course for a considerable distance with the pilot paying no attention to his controls, perhaps eating his lunch or reading his orders."

"A mighty useful contrivance," commented Mr. Giddings. "I should think that would also prevent lots of accidents in bad winds."

"It will—if it turns out as we expect," Paul remarked.

"Give me the full details of this," was the request. "Remember, I am not much of an airplane man."

"Well," said Paul, "you know, sir, that it is far more difficult to drive an airplane than to guide an automobile, not merely because you have two steering-gears or rudders to take care of, one for sidewise and the other for up-and-down travel, but also because there are movable planes in the wings of the machine, which have to be worked to tip or 'bank' it when making a turn or to keep it on an even keel when a gust of wind strikes it. The 'rudder' is the vertical plane at the tail of the machine, and is used for steering sideways, while the 'elevators' are the two horizontal movable planes just below the rudder, which are used for steering up and down. Similar planes to the latter, one situated in the back edge of each upper wing, are called 'ailerons,' and one or the other is raised or depressed according to whether the aviator wishes to bank to the right or left.

"The driver of an automobile has nothing to do but watch his steering-wheel, and be ready to touch a pedal when he wishes to slow up or go faster or stop. If he makes a curve he does not have to bank his machine owing to his comparatively slow speed; but the aviator, traveling much faster through the air, must do this, bringing his airplane to a steep angle if he makes a very short turn. If he does not calculate just right, he is likely to turn upside down and meet this death in a nasty fall.

"While the careful automobilist can always see the road in front of him and avoid rough spots or obstacles before he reaches them, the aviator cannot do this. It is true that he can see another airplane if it gets in his way, or a church steeple when he is flying low; but his greatest dangers are in the clear air itself, where they cannot be detected. He may suddenly drop into a 'hole,' which is really a downward current of air, or he may get a terrific bump when he strikes a rising current. A freakish whim of the winds may unexpectedly take away the air support from under one of the wings, and he will lurch and dip sharply to one side."

"And I suppose sometimes lose all control?" said Mr. Giddings.

"Yes, sir; that has very often happened," put in John. "A flyer friend of mine took a nasty tumble that way near Cleveland last year, breaking three ribs. It's a wonder he wasn't killed."

"The pilot is blind to these pitfalls," went on Paul. "He must control his machine largely by intuition and the sense of feeling, although the veteran airman, John says, can tell a good deal about what to expect from the nature of the earth or clouds below him."

"That's true," averred John. "The closer you are to the earth the more you will feel the 'bumps,' as we call them. They are a whole lot like the waves of the ocean, only invisible, and there will be one straight over every protuberance or depression of size in the surface of the earth. Mountains, hills, houses, lakes, valleys, rivers, forests, all cause bumps or holes in the air up above them. At one thousand feet they are pretty bad. At ten thousand feet they are scarcely noticeable. That's why most pilots prefer to fly high whenever they can."

"What causes the air to act in this way over such configurations?" propounded the publisher.

John looked helpless, and smiled. "You've got me there," he admitted. "I haven't had the opportunity to study aerostatics the same as Paul here. He can probably tell us."

"I'm not through my course yet," reminded his brother, "but I think I can answer that. The air surrounding the earth is a great belt forty or more miles through and is of an even thickness. As our globe sweeps through it, the lower stratum of air naturally sinks down into the valleys and like depressions. This action pulls down the upper stretches of air, thus creating what are termed 'air-pockets' or 'air-holes.' Very dangerous they are, too."

"That is plain enough," declared Bob. "Now, dad, let Paul go on explaining this 'automatic pilot.'"

"If the aviator is enshrouded in fog or tries to sail through a heavy bank of clouds, he is quite likely to lose all sense of direction," continued Paul. "He will not know whether he is banking or traveling on an even keel. Sometimes pilots have come out of a low cloud to find themselves dangerously close to the earth and in an awkward position, perhaps in a steep bank, a side-slip, or even in the terrifying nose-dive, and they have not had time to right themselves before crashing to earth. So you see that before flying can become reasonably safe, some way must be found of keeping the machine automatically on a level keel.

"To operate this stabilizer of ours all the pilot will have to do is to guide the rudder with his feet. The automatic pilot works the elevator and the ailerons. It takes care of 'bumps' and 'holes' and sees that the machine banks at just the right angle on the turns. This makes the operation of an airplane containing the stabilizer even more simple than running a motor-car, because you do not have to worry about going into different speed gears when climbing or descending. You will notice on this drawing that strong piano-wires connect the instruments with all the necessary controlling planes of the machine."

"Instruments?" interrogated Mr. Giddings. "I thought there was but one."

"No; there are two stabilizers, as you will see,—here, and here," was Paul's response, pointing his finger to the parts. "But, as each one is exactly like the other in its construction, only the one has been drawn in detail. The other stabilizer runs lengthwise of the cockpit and takes care of the elevator. Both of these are operated by compressed air, which proceeds from a little tank, right here. The tank is kept supplied by two tubes which lead into it, and each of which joins a small pump operated by a fan which is right here on each side of the fuselage where the onrush of wind will keep it humming as the airplane travels.

"Each equalizer has a bore in it half-filled with mercury, working a good deal like a carpenter's level. If the airplane tilts to one side or the other, the mercury will try to keep its level and will immediately flow to the high side of the bore. At each end of this mercury tube there are electrical contact points. As one becomes submerged in the mercury by a tilting of the plane, a connection is made whereby two electro-magnets are energized on that side. One of these magnets closes an exhaust-valve, and the other opens an inlet-valve, in the compressed air tank. At once air is forced into this double cylinder, which you see at the bottom of the stabilizer, filling the half which is to operate its own set of rudders; and a piston begins to work inside. The piston is connected to a toothed rack, as you will note, causing this to turn a sector engaging it. The control wires connect with this sector."

"Very clever arrangement; but I don't quite see how, in banking, the ailerons can be brought back automatically to a neutral position as soon as the turn has been completed," ventured Mr. Giddings.

"John and I have provided for that, while Bob is responsible for the electrical features I have just mentioned," said Paul. "You will notice that at the top of the mercury channel there is a dividing wall. A tube runs from the left side of this wall to the right wing of the airplane, also from the right side of the wall to the left wing. At the end of each tube there is what we call a 'venturi tube.' This is a kind of suction device operated by the wind. The wind which blows through the left venturi tube sucks the air out of the right-hand side of the mercury tube, and the right venturi tube sucks the air out of the left-hand side of the mercury tube. The stronger the wind, the greater the suction. Now, when making a turn to the right the left wing must travel faster than the right wing, and so there must be more suction in the left venturi. This produces a greater suction in the right-hand side of the mercury tube, which draws the mercury up on that side and down on the other, until the proper electrical contact is broken and the ailerons are returned to neutral position."

"Can the mechanism be thrown out of gear when desired? I should think such a feature might be desirable," remarked Mr. Giddings.

"Indeed it is desirable, sir," declared Paul. "No red-blooded pilot wishes to sit still and let his machine run itself all the time, no more than an automobilist. That would spoil all the sport. By merely disengaging the automatic pilot's wires here at the sector—the work of a couple of seconds—the airplane is ready for hand control."

"How much does it weigh?" was the gentleman's next query.

"A trifle less than a hundred pounds."

"That oughtn't to handicap an airplane any."

"Not a bit," said Paul.

CHAPTER V

AN AIR RACE FINISH AND A CHALLENGE

All in all, Mr. Giddings expressed himself as more than pleased with the drawings for the Sky-Bird II. At the end of the explanation, he put the papers back in the envelope, and asked:

"Have you another set of these drawings in ink, Paul?"

"Yes, sir; this is a copied set; the original drawings from which we will make our tracings and blue-prints are at home."

"You had better leave them there in a safe place, and work from your blue-prints in the old exhibition building at the fair-grounds, being careful to lock them up in your workbench every time you depart. I think you boys have a valuable thing here, and it is to your interest to keep others from knowing your plans or seeing the airplane until we have full government protection in the shape of patent rights. I shall turn this set of drawings over to a patent attorney in the city and ask him to make application to the Patent Office in Washington without delay."

The next morning all three boys, filled with new confidence and energy, met at the fairgrounds as soon as they had had their breakfasts. Paul carried two rolls of fresh blue-prints, which he and John had made while their mother was preparing the meal. One of these sets he gave to Bob to take home as his own special property, and the other one he spread out on the workbench for consultation as their needs required.

Up to this time no effort had been made to keep children and curious adults out of the grounds, but as their machine was now beginning to take on real form, they determined to do this. On a piece of board, Paul printed in large letters, "Private Grounds; Keep Out," and Bob nailed this up on the outside of the high board fence at the entrance. The gate itself they closed and barred on the inside.

"Guess that will be a sufficient hint to the grown-ups," said Bob with a grin. "If the kids climb over, we'll fasten a red flag to the front of our big hangar and paint 'Dynamite' in letters a yard long across the front of the building."

"Yes, and if that doesn't keep them away we'll turn the hose on them," laughed John.

Then they fell to work on the new airplane, applying themselves like beavers. All three boys had had the splendid benefits of manual training when they were in the public schools, and knew how to handle every machine they had set up. In addition to this, Paul and Bob were first-class amateur machinists, as their courses of engineering in Clark Polytechnic embraced the use of metal-working appliances of the latest design, as well as wood-working machinery, and they could have operated other machines had they needed them.

That evening the workers went back home tired but well satisfied with their progress. The next day the shavings flew again, and by the latter part of the week they had begun to assemble portions of the fuselage, using a waterproof glue which had been especially prepared for airplanes, and applying galvanized screws to withstand rust in damp atmospheres.

As the days went by, the boys, like almost everybody in the country, watched the newspapers eagerly for reports of the progress of the contestants in the big Air Derby around the world. Only four of the eleven aircraft to start had succeeded in getting across the treacherous Atlantic, two of these being dirigible balloons, one a flying-boat, and the other a Vickers-Vimy biplane. After landing on European soil one of the lucky airships came to grief in Italy in making a stop for fuel, but the driver had obtained an Italian Caproni plane and was making his way eastward with all haste. The other dirigible, commanded by Americans, had reached Teheran, Persia, where gas-bag troubles had compelled her crew to continue by train. About the same time the flying-boat, piloted by a Boston man, and the biplane, in control of two Englishmen, had reached Yokohama, Japan, within a few hours of each other. It was said that these contestants would wait there for the first steamship going to San Francisco, as they feared it would be impossible to fly across the great Pacific stretch of almost five thousand miles. Upon reaching San Francisco they planned to continue the journey to New York in airplanes furnished by California aeronautical friends.

The newspapers shortly after this announced the sailing of the rival parties at Yokohama. Storms and fog delayed the vessel. Finally she arrived at the Golden Gate, and then came the mad race across the North American continent in fresh airplanes. Near Cheyenne, Wyoming, the American plane was forced to the ground by engine trouble, allowing her competitor to get ahead several hours. This lead the American could not overcome, and the race ended at 5:15 o'clock on the afternoon of July 27th, with the English crew first and the American crew second. Three days later the belated French crew, who had met with mishap in Italy, came in, winning third prize.

The Ross brothers were at work in the hangar when Bob Giddings, who had gone into town on his motorcycle after some more screws, came back waving the copy of the Daily Independent containing this last account.

"Cartier and his bunch have arrived," he cried, springing from his machine. "Here it is on the first page. That accounts for all the prize-winners, and the excitement is practically over. The others will just lob in now—and they might as well." He tossed the paper to John. "Here, read it, you fellows," he said. "You can quit on the Sky-Bird long enough for that, I guess. I'll work while you lay off a few minutes."

Bob rolled up his sleeves, and John and Paul spread out the newspaper on the bench and interestedly read the article in question. As they finished, and were turning around to resume work, Bob observed:

"Dad's got a rattling good editorial on this Air Derby, if I do say it.
Take a look at page 5 and see how he rips 'em up the back."

Shoulder to shoulder, the two brothers leaned over the bench and read as follows:

"AROUND-THE-WORLD" RECORDS

The world has just witnessed the finish of another effort on the part of mankind to circle the globe in record-breaking time. And once more the newspapers of the universe, and the sporting chroniclers, are registering a new record in this class of human endeavor. When, three days ago, the English team, headed by Chester Hodge, dropped out of a Curtis plane into Mineola Field, it was just 23 days, 6 hours and 15 minutes after the same crew had left that field in their Vickers-Vimy. This beats the former record of 36 days and some odd hours, made in 1913 by John Henry Mears, by the substantial margin of approximately 12 days. It is a big gain—a startlingly short time for encompassing the world as compared with the efforts of the past.

All of the three contesting crews to finish have broken Mears's record, and deserve great credit for their praise-worthy performance. The sponsors for this first great Air Derby around the world, the prominent aero clubs of this country and the Eastern Hemisphere, also deserve much praise for conceiving and promoting such a successful contest, and in posting such magnificent prizes.

But, in the interests of other similar tours likely to follow, this newspaper thinks it high time to declare itself opposed most vigorously to two fundamental features governing the competition just closed.

First, why was this contest called by its promoters an "Air Derby"? In our opinion, with rules allowing the use of other modes of travel as well as aircraft, the title is a decided misnomer. It should have been termed a "Go-As-You-Please Derby." Not a single one of these contestants accomplished the girdle by airplane alone; every winner took a steamship across the Pacific. Here's hoping that when another 'round-the-world contest is pulled off it will be tagged with a title which fits.

Second, when a specific record trip around the world is promulgated, is it scientifically correct to take a route which is approximately 30 per cent shorter than the actual circumference of the universe on which we live? In a foot race around a circular track judges do not let sprinters pick out their own course and "cut across lots" whenever they choose. Nor is it allowed in horse races, auto races, or any form of sport where time records are registered on curving courses.

The Daily Independent contends that beginning with Jules Verne's mythical hero Phileas Fogg, who in the story negotiated the journey in the improbable time of 80 days, back in 1872, every record-maker in the flesh and blood has followed northerly routes averaging the 30th parallel, thus traversing only about 16,000 miles of the world's actual circumference of 24,899 miles; and these records have gone down as true and complete accomplishments! But, because a wrongful practice, one misrepresentative of its purpose, has been carried on for almost a century, is it any reason for arguing that the process should continue in this advanced and enlightened day?

We say NO! It is time for this practice of around-the-world humbug and cheatery to stop right now. If it takes our fastest modern globe-trotters a whole year to go around the world by a route equal to or approximating the equatorial girth, then let it take them a year; for the sake of our pride and all that is good and sincere let us do our stunts on the square.

There are no records of an equatorial trip around the world. Who will be the first to establish one? Let us run a pen through all these short-cut records of the past, and turn a clean page for the entry of the first real journey around the fat old world's belt.

As Paul finished the editorial his heart was beating very fast. He was a true sportsman, and he realized the truth in the bold stand taken by the Daily Independent. His brother John was no less favorably affected by it.

"Bang me, if that isn't a good article!" said John enthusiastically. "Mr. Giddings may get a lot of criticism for this from a certain class of people, but he's taking the right course."

"He certainly is," approved Paul. "I had never thought of it before, but he points the error out so clearly that almost anybody ought to realize the need of a fairer route after reading his statements. Just as he says, it's never too late to correct matters which have been going wrong, no matter how long."

"I'd give anything I've got if I could be the first fellow to go around the world's belt," declared John, his brown cheeks glowing with deeper color at the thought; "I wouldn't care so much about beating these other chaps in the matter of time, just so long as I made a fair trail."

"Oh, John, wouldn't that be a great trip!" cried Paul.

"Say, look at here," broke in Bob Giddings, who had been near enough to overhear all of this conversation. His face was glowing, too, as he turned toward the brothers. "When we get the Sky-Bird II done, why couldn't the three of us pick out a new course around the globe in her? If she's as good as we think she will be, we could travel over any kind of land or water with her, and I think we could pick out islands in the Pacific so that we could cross that and make the entire journey by air."

"I believe this old ship could do it all right," said John, full of confidence and thrilled at the idea, as he stepped back and looked at the partly-assembled fuselage with a loving eye. "But, Bob, a trip like that would cost a lot of money just for gas, and you know Paul and I could hardly afford it."

"I'm going to speak to dad about it, anyhow," decided Bob; "he has been talking airplanes and world routes at home to mother and me for the last three months, and maybe he will be interested enough to back us up. He never stops at anything when he once sets his mind on it."

It was several days after this that Bob Giddings came to work with another newspaper in his hands.

"Things seem to be coming our way as fast as they can," he said, with a mysterious smile. "Take in what Mr. Wrenn, the editor of this paper, says in this framed insert on the front page."

John and Paul did as directed. The article was prominently displayed, and was to the effect that the Clarion disagreed very strongly with the attitude adopted by its contemporary, the Daily Independent, in regard to around-the-world routes. It declared that it was physically impossible by any mode of modern travel to follow a route along, or even within twenty degrees of, the equatorial line, and said it was a shame to assail the creditable records made in the past. In conclusion it stated: