Hike and the aeroplane

Tearing off Poodle’s coat, ripping up his shirt sleeve. Hike found that the wound was not very deep, but that some blood had been lost. With quick, careful fingers, he bathed the wound with water from a spring, never ceasing to keep an eye on the mountaineer—who was not stopping, however, but still on the run.

Poodle opened his eyes, and, as Hike started to heap all sorts of blame on himself, grinned:

“That’s the time I fooled you, all right, heh?”

“Gee, Poodle—I want to kill myself. I didn’t know you were hurt. It was a crime, my keeping the game up. I wanted to get our warlike friend good and frightened before we dropped him, so he wouldn’t fight afterwards. But lots of it was just fool fun—I could have used the Paralyzing Wave again. But I thought it would do him good to learn a lesson about butting in on aeroplanes. Gee, I’m awf’ly sorry, Poodski, I’d—”

“I got you going now, all right!” chuckled Poodle. “I’ll keep you nice—and—humble, now, Cap’n.... Cut it out, Hike, I know you didn’t know I was shot. And I wasn’t—much. I’ll be all right, now you got the thing tied up. Beat it for Washington.”

“Think you can stand—”

“Say, you going to treat me like a little kid?” shrieked Poodle, pretending to be much hurt and insulted. “Think I can’t stand a little scratch?”

Hike apologized, helped Poodle in, and started the Hustle, while Poodle, in his seat, grinned all over at thinking of how easily he had made Hike “cut out the weeps and lemme ’lone and tend to flyin’-machining.”

Though they passed over some thousands of people, who stared up at their strange machine, the boys had no more unfortunate accidents. Just before dawn, that night, they stopped, in a field just outside of Washington, D. C., their journey practically over—and their fuel mostly gone.

Once the Hustle had landed, two hustlers changed into very tired and somewhat cross boys. There was a slight drizzle. They were too tired to light the alcohol-stove and cook anything, though they were hungry enough, to quote Poodle, “to eat the wheels off’n the chassis.” So they nibbled at tablets of condensed food, crawled into blankets, and disconsolately dozed, feeling as little like heroes of the air as though they had been merely sailing a boat five miles.

It was nearly dawn before they got to sleep. When Hike woke, after only five hours’ rest, he still felt weary and “grouchy.” He reckoned by his watch (still set for Pacific Coast time) that it must be almost nine, and rushed down to the Potomac River, near which they were landed. A crowd of farmers had gathered, staring at the boys as though they had dropped from Mars. Hike paid no attention to them, but, slipping behind a big plane tree, pulled off his clothes and dashed into the river.

There he splashed till he felt awake again; then sallied out, and persuaded the farmers to leave them in peace. He bought some gasoline at an automobile station, filled the Hustle’s tank, made coffee on the portable stove, and awoke Poodle.

The latter sprang up, trying hard to look as though he “felt like a kink,” as, he insisted, he did feel. His injured shoulder was very stiff, but promised to be well in a couple of days—well enough for Poodle to pretend that it was all right, at least! He danced about in his favorite Highland Fling, and managed to look very much unlike a wounded aviator.

Hike, though, had grown serious. He had to face the Army Board of Aviation—and that very morning. Poodle said Hike looked “as if he’d found three hairs on his chin, and wanted to be real’ grown-up, to match his big beard!”

Breakfast finished, they packed, and Hike wearily took the Hustle up, circled over Washington, and landed in the grounds of the White House, across from the State, War, and Navy Building. From what he had heard his father tell of Washington, and from what he had seen of it as a child, on a visit, he was sure that the Army Board of Aviation would be meeting here; with Captain Willoughby Welch telling how fine the P. J. Jolls aeroplane was.

Leaving the tetrahedral, around which a crowd was already gathering, in Poodle’s charge, Hike hurried across to the War Building, and found the Board’s meeting room. He gave a note to the orderly at the door.

General Thorne, commander of the Signal Corps, was hiding a yawn, as he listened to Captain Welch’s long report. An orderly brought him a note from the son of his old friend Major James Griffin. The General remembered young Jerry Griffin perfectly, remembered his lean strong young body and his courteous seriousness; and when he read that Jerry was there, with “something very important that I must tell you, right away, about the Monterey tests of aeroplanes,” he stepped out to the anteroom, and greeted Hike warmly. Hike’s eyes flashed joy as he saw the kindliness on the ruddy face of the little dried-up, gray-haired, bright-eyed General.

“Glad to see you, Gerald. Your father here with you?”

“No, sir. It’s like this. Captain Welch—he’s been reporting on the Jolls aeroplanes? Has he mentioned Priest’s tetrahedral?”

“I couldn’t very well tell you the content of his report, my boy. But I can say that he hasn’t said anything about any kind of a tetrahedral.”

“He should have, sir, because Lieut ——, one of the officers at Monterey, has been making some experiments with a new tetrahedral sort of aeroplane, on the side, and he’s found it a lot the best aeroplane in the world.”

The General smiled. “Don’t you suppose Captain Welch would mention it, if that were the case—and I know he won’t because he gave an outline of what his report would be before he started making it. I think you must have been a little fooled about this wonderful new aeroplane of yours, Jerry.”

“Why, General Thorne, that tetrahedral could fly from San Francisco to Washington—say three thousand miles, a little over, maybe—at a hundred and fifty to two hundred miles an hour, without a stop, carrying all its fuel, and a thousand or two thousand pounds of freight or explosives or passengers!”

“Well, well, that would be quite a feat—but I’m afraid it couldn’t be done, Jerry.”

“Well, it has made the trip in about thirty hours—regular rate of a hundred miles an hour, and going at two hundred an hour when it wanted to. Got a gear-change, you see,” declared Hike.

“It has? Well, why didn’t I hear about this wonderful flight, pray? When was it made, and who was the aviator?” The General evidently thought there was something the matter with the mind of “Major Griffin’s boy.” Also he seemed to be in a hurry to get back to the meeting of his Board. His smile was kindly but rather hurried.

“Oh, the flight was just finished. Thirty hours. Monterey to here. I was the aviator! And the tetrahedral is resting itself over in the White House grounds, now! If you’ll come to a window that overlooks it, I’ll show you!”

The General forgot all about the meeting of the Aviation Board, and hurried to a window, from which they could see the great tetrahedral, resting like a nesting hen, with Poodle busily refusing to answer questions put to him by a great crowd, which the police were trying to keep back.

“There she is, just here from Monterey. Arrived late last night.” Hike had to grin at the bewilderment on the General’s face. “If you and the Board will come up to the roof, I’ll drive that tetrahedral in circles all over Washington, at two hundred miles an hour. Then we’ll see if Mr. Captain Welch oughtn’t to mention—”

“Respect toward him till he’s proven remiss, Jerry,” warned the General. “But I’m sure we’ll be glad to come up and see you fly. Well, well, well! Two hundred miles an hour! And a boy like you! Well, well! But Jerry, are you sure it’s safe? I wouldn’t want Jim Griffin’s son to get hurt— Well, if you came clear from Monterey—”

So the General herded his Board of Aviation to the roof of the State, War, and Navy Building. Captain Willoughby Welch, his report interrupted, very indignant and amazed, followed them.

Hike had hurried down to the White House grounds. It took him ten minutes to persuade the policemen handling the crowd gathered about the Hustle that he had a right to get up near her; but once he had edged to her, he swung himself in and started the engine. The crowd scattered in fear.

“Going two hundred an hour. And over buildings—bum currents between buildings. You watch the engine,” Hike directed Poodle, who drawled back, “Did they make you a general while you were up in the war shack, or only a colonel?”

Hike took her up easily. Even at fifty miles an hour, they seemed to be “going some,” as they rushed over business blocks and church steeples. But he quickly shoved her up to a hundred—a hundred and fifty—two hundred miles an hour. They were now over the Capitol grounds, then almost instantly way out over Georgetown, whirling with breath-taking speed along the Potomac, then making a couple of huge but dismayingly quick circles over the Washington Monument. At first, in the bad air-drafts, the Hustle tossed like a small boat in a blow, but Hike climbed up to four thousand feet, where the Hustle, with her great expanse of planes, ran fairly steadily and smoothly.

Hike suddenly began making great circles about the whole city, smaller circles and higher each time, so that the Hustle’s path was like a corkscrew. Up and up he dashed, to twelve thousand feet; climbing much quicker than one could in the unsteady ordinary biplanes. Once up at that magnificent height, from which he could see, through a slight mist, the capital city spread out like a dim map, he stopped the motor, and came volplaning down like a lazy butterfly, till he was within five hundred feet of the crowd atop the State, War, and Navy Building.

Then came the really great test. Starting her engine, he floated over the central part of the city at about the slowest rate ever made by an aeroplane—keeping her down, for a time, to fifteen miles an hour. No aeroplane except a tetrahedral can go really slow without falling; and this easy pace was the thing which made General Thorne, watching through a field-glass up there on the War Building, squeal with delight, like a nice gray old mouse. Forgetting his rank, he clapped Captain Willoughby Welch joyously on the shoulder.

Captain Wibbelty-Wobbelty wasn’t so glad, somehow, as the General.

Suddenly Hike shot her up again, shut off the motor, and took his hands off the levers. The tetrahedral began falling, slowly, easily.

Never in his life had Hike wanted to do anything so much as to seize those levers, and guide her safely down, but he made himself keep his hands off, though Poodle was shrieking, “What’s matter?” This was the last great test. The tetrahedral was the only model that could safely flutter down by herself—like a great box-kite.

He touched the levers only once, to guide the aeroplane into an open spot in the White House grounds. It was the Hustle herself that finally settled down, with a jar which shook up the young aviators, but did no harm. As they crawled out, General Thorne was already rushing up, in a government automobile, and fairly spluttering his admiration as he grabbed for Hike’s hand.

“My boy, my boy! Well, well, WELL, WELL! Greatest flight in the world. The Army’s got to have your tetrahedral! Want you to come right up to the Board room. Just a minute and soldiers will be here to guard your machine. Let me look her over, meanwhile. And this is—? Mr. Torrington Darby? Glad to meet— Oh, better known as Poodle, eh! Well, God bless you, my boy, whatever your name is. You two boys will go down in history.”

“Gee, I hope not,” breathed Poodle. “It’s bad enough to have to study history now, without having to study about us. Gee—think of the history master saying to me, ‘Darby, recite on how the great Darby first got famous.’ Be awful, General—don’t you see, I’d have to say, ‘By hanging onto Geerawld Griffin’s coat tails.’ Ouch!”

As they talked, a file of soldiers bored through the newly gathered crowd and formed about the Hustle. Returning the corporal’s salute, General Thorne led the boys to the automobile, and they were whirled off to the State, War, and Navy Building.

The whole Board wanted to hear a full report on the tetrahedral, and they wanted to hear it immediately. But who was to make it? Even the captured General Thorne admitted that Hike seemed too young a person for that.

“Lieutenant Adeler, stationed at Monterey, knows all about the tetrahedral,” suggested Poodle modestly, while Hike echoed, “Yes—he’s just the person.”

“Very well—but this Board can’t very well wait a week or ten days for him to get here,” said General Thorne.

“I’ll bring him here in thirty to forty hours from now, if you’ll telegraph him his orders to report here, and be waiting for me at Benicia Arsenal (he’s there, just now) when I get there, so I won’t miss him,” shouted Hike, excitedly, seeing success for the Hustle and Martin Priest.

“How bring him? By the tetrahedral? Great—that will be the final test! And I’ll ask Captain Welch to go with—” began the General.

Then he turned to Captain Welch who, in the farthest corner of the room, was scowling and glowering, as though he had just lost a battle. As he looked at the Captain, General Thorne’s nice eyes suddenly grew cold, and he went on, sarcastically:

“Or no. I remember that Captain Welch was so busy investigating Jolls aeroplanes that he couldn’t take time to look into this tetrahedral, even though it was right there at Monterey. I think we’ll have Captain Welch relieved from further duty in this matter. I’ll ask you, Major Tomkins, to go with this young man—Major Tomkins, Mr. Gerald Griffin—in the tetrahedral, and make a careful study of its working during its trip to California and back. Please regard him as completely in charge of it, however. And Mr. Jerry—did you tell me that Mr.—Mr. Priest, is it?—the inventor—is at Monterey? Bring him here, too, if he’ll come. Good-by, and God bless you, my boy!”

While Signal Corps mechanics were looking over the Hustle to make sure that everything was all right, Hike and Poodle got a massage and three hours’ sleep, and then, with Major Tomkins respectfully sitting in the forward passenger-seat, they went whirling westward again.

General Thorne was saying to himself, “The only thing that I’m sorry for is that I didn’t have a chance to give those two boys a banquet. And now let me look into the record of our too-clever Captain Willoughby Welch. I think I see trouble ahead for him!”