Hike and the aeroplane

Major James Griffin, commander of the Army Signal Corps at the Monterey Presidio, did not know that the two boys who came riding up to the door of his office were bearing a great message. He didn’t even know that the taller was the great Hike Griffin. He believed him to be merely Jerry Griffin, Son. Why, sometimes he even thought of him as Gerald Griffin! And, to him, Poodle was only “the son of my old friend Tom Darby.” So he was not much impressed when the boys came scurrying in; excited, though they were tired and what Poodle called “feak and weeble around the knees,” from their hard fast ride back up the coast.

“Well, boys,” smiled the tall, slender, gentle Major, “did you have a good ride?”

Hike explained that they’d had a good ride, a very good ride. That they hadn’t minded sleeping under single blankets, after all. And that they had found the greatest aeroplane in the world.

The Major listened smilingly to their description of Martin Priest and his tet-ra-hé-dral (Hike stumbled over the word, and had to take it in sections, as though it were a circus train!) “Well, well, strange,” said the Major. “I’ll see you at dinner, boys. Better run along now, and get a hot tub.”

He turned back to the pile of papers on his desk. Poodle, by raising his eyebrows, asked silently of Hike, “What shall we do?” Just as silently, Hike replied, “Nothing!” by wriggling his shoulders.

They left the office, got that hot bath, and went to find Captain Willoughby Welch. Though they did not like the Captain, he was next in rank to the Major.

Poodle had nicknamed him “Wibbelty-Wobbelty.” Other people called him “that mean officer.” Captain Welch was a man who always seemed to be sneering—and usually was. No one liked him, yet his manners were beautiful, and his reputation as a Signal Corps expert so great, that Hike couldn’t help looking up to him and admiring him at times—though he never thought, for one single minute, of loving him, as he did splendid Lieutenant Jack Adeler. Captain Welch had been a teacher of physics, of electricity and light and heat, at West Point. When men began trying out aviation, he made so many wonderful flights, and clever inventions—such as a means of fastening bracing cords to the struts or props of planes—that he became famous. He first went over to France, and got one of the first aero pilot’s licenses in the world.

The War Department had detailed him to look into the whole matter of the different sorts of aeroplanes, for a report to a “Board of Aviation,” which was to meet in Washington, late in August of that summer, with Brigadier General Thorne of the Signal Corps at the head of it. This board was to recommend what they considered the best aeroplane—and Congress was going to spend nearly a million dollars in buying aeroplanes of that sort. Their recommendation would probably be largely founded on what Captain Welch reported. So Hike was anxious to have the Captain look very carefully into the matter of poor Martin Priest’s aeroplane. But he felt very doubtful. For Captain Welch had already announced that he would report favorably on the Jolls aeroplane.

Hike didn’t like Mr. P. J. Jolls, the owner of the Jolls aeroplane and friend to Captain Welch. Mr. P. J. Jolls was a plump person, with rolls of fat at the back of his neck, which stuck out over his collar like layers of sausage. He had a loud voice and, as Poodle said, “was allus a-actin’ like he thought he owned the universe and was comin’ ’round to collect rent from you for bein’ on his old earth!” Mr. P. J. Jolls had never been up in an aeroplane, and he had never invented one single bolt or wire. But he was very clever at money-making. After collecting several millions by selling patent medicines, shaving-soap, and fake mine-stock, he had cornered the aeroplane-market. Nearly every model of American monoplane or biplane, with all patents, was now owned by him. He had hired inventors to combine the best things about all the different sorts of machines in one Jolls monoplane and one Jolls biplane.

Captain Welch had announced that the Jolls machines were the best in the world. Lieutenant Adeler declared that there were better ones—that Jolls was an old fake—and Hike loved him for saying so. But Welch said that for his part he was sure Mr. P. J. Jolls would be recognized by Congress as the greatest aviator in the world. He seemed to think that Mr. Jolls was also one of the most lovable men in the world; and to be glad that Mr. Jolls was going to get Congress’s good round million dollars.

He even had Mr. Jolls as a guest at the Monterey Presidio, and took him to the Officers’ Club. All the other officers found that they had important engagements away from the club, when they heard Mr. Jolls’ loud thick voice. Even Major Griffin, the most polite of all men, disappeared.

While he was at the Presidio, Mr. P. J. Jolls had once patted Poodle Darby on the head, and called him a “fine boy.” Ten minutes later, Hike Griffin found Poodle washing the head that had just been thus patted, with strong yellow soap, meanwhile seriously singing to himself:

Hike had then sat on his legs, like a Turk, and raising his long arms declared, “Poodski, never before did I know that you are the greatest poet in the world, but now I see that you are.”

When Hike and Poodle found Captain Willoughby-Wibbelty Welch, lover of the aeroplanes of P. J. Jolls, the good Captain was smoking a long thin cigar, sitting in a Chinese wicker chair on the porch of his quarters. He smiled that silky, sneaky, snakey, sneery smile of his (at least, that’s what Poodle said his smile was, afterwards), and called out as they came up the walk, “Ah! Home again, boys?”

“No,” whispered Poodle to Hike. “We’re still at the South Pole fishing for bread-fruit-fish with a crow bar. Foolish question eleventy thousand and one.”

“Well, how did the gallant heroes find the long trek?” smiled Captain Welch.

“Great,” Hike gravely said. “Captain, way down the coast—in a canyon, where he wouldn’t be disturbed at his experiments—there’s an aviator chap with a—uh—a tet-ra-hé-dral aeroplane that’s the fastest machine in the world, and that’d carry the most weight. He hasn’t got the engine to fly her right, but I wish I could get you to come down and talk it over with him. I’d like to bet you’d find it was just the machine the War Department is looking for, for the army aeroplane.”

“What makes you think it’s the fastest machine in the world?” Captain Welch was still smiling, but he looked more patronizing than ever.

“Why, he explained it to me, Captain. And I saw it. And it strikes me as so awf’ly reasonable. I’m sure it’s worth some looking into, anyway.” Hike felt fussed. His argument did not sound convincing.

“Why, my boy, there isn’t a crank aviator on earth that won’t tell you the fool machine he’s made out of barrel hoops and cheese cloth would fly if he only had the engine. He knows it will, and won’t you please let him have the money and you’ll get seventy per cent. He’s always sure it would pay you to look into it. Why, my boy, one of the principal tasks of the Signal Corps is keeping cranks with wonderful inventions away. They’d use up all your time, if you’d let them. You just take my advice and don’t listen to them.”

The Captain stood up, yawned like a nice tabby cat, smoothed his neat little mustache, smiled, and started to go into the house.

“O Captain,” called Hike, “won’t you come down—fine ride—and just take a look at the—”

“Couldn’t. Really. Haven’t time. Must finish up my report for the Board of Aviation,” the Captain said, very sweetly, but as though he considered the business finished.

“Wibbelty!” whispered Poodle.

“Wobbelty!” whispered Hike.

Their last chance was in Lieutenant Jack Adeler, the youngest officer in the Signal Corps at Monterey.

Jack Adeler was the son of a quiet old gentleman who had left him five hundred thousand dollars, a ranch in Mexico, and the kindliest disposition that a man ever had. He had graduated from Yale, then entered the army, and was devoting a great deal of his own private fortune to aviation. He had never made such showy flights as had Captain Welch, and he never advertised his knowledge of aviation as did the Captain, but Hike had the feeling that he really knew about ten times as much about it. He was solidly built and quick and quiet, and he liked to have Hike and Poodle with him, and never was tired of answering their questions.

When they found him—playing golf on the Post links—he listened to their tale of Martin Priest and the tetrahedral. He said that he too was a little afraid that Priest was a crank; but he promised to ride down the coast with the boys and look over the machine.

They started the next day.

When they reached the secret valley beyond Canyon Diablo, the crank aviator was sitting on a soap-box, waiting for them. He had cut his hair, in a rough way, and had changed his crazy-looking white gown for overalls, a blue flannel shirt, and a greasy sweater-jacket. Poodle’s opinion was that he had changed himself from a crazy prophet into a tramp, a hobo mechanic; but both Hike and Lieutenant Adeler said that he looked like an Edison, with his broad forehead, slender hands, and bright eyes.

“Well, I wish I could find out all them things, like you high-brows,” sighed Poodle. “I admit that I’m a mutt. I ain’t even sure but what I’m a wutt. So I hope you’ll let me go to sleep on that nice soft grass, and not yell ‘Come on’ too quick.”

Martin Priest seemed to have waked up. He spoke quickly and hopefully—just as Hike did when he was interested. He showed them the machine, and told them of the small flights he had taken with his broken-down engine.

He explained a hundred devices. For instance, there was the speed changing gear. His aeroplane was the only one that ran on several speeds, like an automobile, so that the aviator could fly at different rates without having to cut down the feed of the engine with the hand-throttle, every second. But there was a hand-throttle, too. Then, there were double control wires, running from the levers to the rudder and the elevating planes, so that, if one wire broke (a thing that has caused many an aviator’s death) another would take its place.

For starting the machine from the seat—without having to have some one whirl the propeller till the engine was going—there was an electrical motor, which was a sort of boy of all work. For, when it was through its work as a motor, it became a dynamo, and filled up storage-batteries which worked the big electrical search-light, for use when the machine was flying at night. It also ran a tiny electric stove, placed at the side of the freight-platform, and warmed electric heating-pads placed on the aviator’s seat to keep him warm.

But most important of all was that this machine really had what aviators call “automatic stability”—that is, the power to right itself, and not go tumbling down, when it was tipped up by bad winds, such as a “retarded following breeze.” Most aeroplanes have little planes called “ailerons,” which swing up and help to balance the aeroplane when it tips. They are worked by the aviator, and if anything happens to him, or to them, very quick trouble follows. But with the tetrahedral’s many little planes, facing every way, the machine caught the air and righted itself no matter which way it leaned.

To all of this, Lieutenant Adeler listened without saying much. Even Poodle listened with interest, though he did keep repeating that “horrid long name,” over and over—tet-ra-hé-dral, tet-ra-hé-dral—as though he couldn’t get to like it very much!

The lieutenant poked about in the aerodrome, took off his cap and stuck his head into what Poodle called “the tetooreelederlum’s innards,” and looked over some drawings and photographs that Martin Priest had made of the tetrahedral’s flight. (He had been taking photographs even when he was hundreds of feet up in the air, by having the camera’s lens uncover automatically).

Finally, Adeler nodded a couple of times and said, “Good machine. I’m not sure but that she’d be the fastest and best in the world!”

Then Martin Priest shook hands all ’round, shouted “God bless you,” and threw himself on the ground, sobbing like a child that wants its mother.

Adeler stood quietly waiting. When Martin Priest had got control of himself, the Lieutenant said:

“Of course she’ll have to have a test. If she makes good, I’ll be glad to back you. I happen to have a good deal of money—inherited it from my father. I’ll furnish the coin and all the help I can. I’d like to have an aerodrome built for you near Monterey. And I’ll do all I can to get the government Board of Aviation—that’ll decide on what machine the Army is to buy—look over your tetrahedral. The Board meets in Washington, in August. That is, I will if she shows up well when we test her—and I think she will.”

“See here, Lieutenant,” stammered Martin Priest, “I can patch this old Gnome—she’s a good engine, all right, but she was smashed up in an accident, and I’ve just been able to tinker with her. Never had new parts for her. But we can fly as far as Monterey with her, all right. You people have three horses? Well, you, Lieutenant, and one of the boys come with me in the aeroplane—it’ll carry all three of us, and what of my stuff here I need to keep—say two thousand pounds—pretty good load, eh? especially over these hills, with all the air-flaws there are. You’ll notice there’s a regular freight platform, aft in the machine. The other boy can ride back, and there’s a young ranchero that lives across the hills that’ll be willing to go with him, riding one horse and leading the other. “When does the Army Board of Aviation meet, did you say? What? In one month? Well, I could have the tetrahedral ready to fly then, all right. But what about getting a two hundred and fifty horse-power engine?”

“There’s a man down in San Diego that tried to build a monster triplane, and he got a great big two hundred and thirty horse-power Kulnoch engine for her—you know, one of these new ones, air-cooled, with revolving cylinders, peach of an engine,” said Lieutenant Adeler. “His machine never would fly, and he wants to sell the engine. We can get that in time.”

Adeler, though he talked very quietly, had gone into the thing as though it was the one thing he counted on. Hike was so glad that he pounded Poodle on the back till that comfortable youth grappled with him mightily.

“We’ll make that test,” continued the Lieutenant. “Hike, you and Poodle draw lots to see which goes with us.... By the way, Mr. Priest, there’s just one thing we’ve got to take into account. The only proper way that we can get this machine before the Board of Aviation is to interest Captain Welch in it. He’s to report to them. He’s—uh—a little—”

“Mulish,” supplied Poodle.

“He’s a little obstinate,” the Lieutenant went on explaining. “But if the tetrahedral works out as well as I think she will, he can’t help seeing her advantages. And so he’ll have to make a favorable report to the Board.”

The boys drew lots to see which should have the flight in the tetrahedral, and which should ride horseback up to Monterey. Poodle won the aeroplane trip. He led Hike aside, and murmured, “Say, old Hike, let’s draw three times. The only fair way.”

“Don’t you want to try the tetrahedral?” asked Hike.

“’S matter of fact, I don’t,” confessed Poodle.

Hike was a good deal amazed to find Poodle apparently afraid of the trial. He was so anxious to go himself that he gladly accepted the offer to change places.

Quick at acting and good at thinking though Hike was, there were many times when he did not think so quickly as jolly Mr. Poodle. It wasn’t till long afterward that it occurred to him that Poodle had never seemed really afraid of anything; and that the chances were that he had given up the flight to please his beloved chum.

While they were talking, Lieutenant Adeler had been saying to Martin Priest, “What have you named the tetrahedral?”

“I hadn’t planned anything, yet. I suppose the general sort of aeroplane will be called the ‘Priest Model.’ I think we ought to name this particular one after young Griffin there. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d never have had even a chance at a chance.... What was that you called him—nickname—‘Hike’ was it? Why not call it ‘Hike the First’?”

“Too likely to get his name and the tetrahedral’s mixed up, I should say,” considered Lieutenant Adeler.

“Well, ‘Hustle’ is pretty much like ‘Hike.’ How about ‘Hustle the First’?”

“Fine.”

The boys were called over and informed of the tetrahedral’s name—by which they usually called her, afterwards. Hike blushed a poppy-red when he was told that the name was really in honor of him.

“Hurray for Hike’s Hustle!” shouted Poodle, and he dragged Hike and the grave Lieutenant after him in a dance about the Hustle, singing:

As the three danced, Martin Priest sat down on a tool box and covered his face with his long hands.

They stopped, staring. Priest seemed to be in absolute despair. “What’s the matter, General?” shouted the irrepressible Poodle.

The inventor raised his head and looked as though he had gone blind. “I’ve—I supposed—I’ve been hoping—but I must.”

“Yes?” said Lieutenant Adeler, gently.

“I must tell you who and what I am.” The inventor was grim as an officer directing a siege. Even Poodle grew quiet. Martin Priest spoke quickly, trying to get it over:

“As far as the aeroplanes go, I’m all right—I’m square. I think I am about other things, too—now, anyway. But there was a time—”

Hike walked over, as Priest stopped, and put his arm about the inventor’s shoulder, for a second. The inventor smiled a three-cornered funny little smile, then looked grim again, and went on, swiftly:

“When I was a young chap—twenty-six—I married—I can’t tell you what I thought of my wife, but she was perfect, to me anyway. I’d graduated from Massachusetts Tech., and was with a marine engine company. I was interested in aviation, too—long before the Wrights had flown, or the Bell people, when Lilienthal was just trying his gliders. Well, this engine company was small, and I had a lot to do with the business end of it, as well as the mechanical part. My wife got mighty sick—needed a lot of things, and my salary was small. And I got in debt for a lot of aeroplane material.

“Well, I just borrowed some money from the firm’s safe—really borrowed, or that’s what I thought. I was so crazy over my wife’s sickness that I didn’t think much about it, I guess, to tell the truth.

“They found out about it, and I was arrested, and sentenced for embezzlement.... My wife died while I was in prison—back East that was.... Convict, that’s what I was. I don’t know’s you’ll want to associate—

“Well, the warden was a fine old boy. He made me head of the machine shop. I got him interested in aviation—he was a handy man with the tools himself; and we used to do a lot of work on the side—him in Christian clothes, and me in stripes.

“When I got out I’d inherited several thousand dollars from my wife’s uncle, funny old chap that had just been sitting back and watching my capers without letting me know anything about it. I wandered around the world, saw what the Wrights and Alexander Graham Bell and Curtiss were doing with aviation, and what Santos Dumont was doing in France. Saw one of J. A. D. McCurdy’s first flights. Then I came out here, and built this shack, and hoped to have a machine that I could surprise the world with, just the young ranchero helping me. But now my money’s practically all gone.

“Thought I’d better tell you just how things really stand with me.... I don’t want any false impression—”

Hike started forward and wrung Martin Priest’s hand, silently. The Lieutenant did the same. They were his friends.

As for Poodle, he did the most brilliant thing of his life—nothing at all but smile his pleasantest!

Then they began to plan the trip up to Monterey.