CHAPTER XVII
THE OLD INVENTOR
“Joe Strong wins!”
It was the voice of the race-judge announcing that fact—a fact which every spectator could see for himself, for the aviator in the monoplane which had come so near to beating our hero had come to earth some distance from the finish line. And those behind Joe did not cross until after he had done so.
“Well, I did the trick,” thought Joe, as he came down to the ground, and released himself from the inner cage. “But it was a close squeak. Now we’ll see what good it does the circus.”
The fact that Joe had won because of the disablement of one of his competitors’ machines did not in the least detract from his victory. Every race, or contest, is won either through the superiority of one man or machine over another, or because of some failure, slip or weakness on the part of the loser.
“Great work, Joe! Great work!” cried Benny Turton, rushing up to shake hands with his chum.
“That’s just what it was!” chimed in Jim Tracy.
Others were crowding around Joe, endeavoring to shake his hand. Most of them were strangers to him, but among them were some of his circus friends and the other aviators.
“Allow me to congratulate you!” exclaimed the judge of the race, and he, also, shook hands with the boy. “Your time for the three rounds of the course was twenty-seven minutes, eight and three-fifth seconds, which is very good, considering the type of machine you used.”
“Thank you,” responded Joe. “I don’t recommend my machine for speed. I got it up for the novelty of it, as novelty is what is wanted in a circus.”
“I see,” remarked the judge. “Now if you will come over to the stand I’ll give you the cup and prize money.”
After giving some of the circus attendants instructions about caring for the Bat, Joe Strong made his way through the throng. He would soon have to use the wings of steel in the circus, and the batteries needed recharging.
“Well, you beat me fairly and squarely, friend,” said the man who had been forced to come down in his monoplane.
“I’m glad you think so,” the circus lad responded. “I’m sorry your engine went back on you. Only for that you’d have come in first.”
“Oh, it’s all in the game. I’ll beat you next time.”
“There isn’t going to be any next time for me—not in the style of air craft I’ve been using,” said our hero. “It isn’t built for racing, I can see that. I did it for the advertisement it would give our show.”
“Well, it’s a good one. I’m coming in myself to see you to-night, for I don’t fly after dark. I don’t care for it.”
“I’ll be glad to see you,” responded Joe.
A little later, with the prize money and cup in his possession, Joe and his circus friends went back to the circus grounds, there being no parade that day. The prize cup was put on exhibition, and the press agent of the show saw to it that a good notice of Joe’s success was sent to the papers.
“It’s the best advertisement of the show we’ve had in a long while,” the press agent said, clapping the winner of the air race on the back. “I wish you could do something like that every day.”
“That would be a little too much,” Joe replied. “But I’ll do the best I can.”
Joe’s feat in winning the aviation prize had just the effect he and the others of the circus had hoped for. It brought crowds to the show that afternoon, so that every seat was filled, and hundreds had to be turned away. And this in spite of the fact that there was an exhibition on the aviation grounds at the same time.
“I don’t wish them any bad luck!” exclaimed Jim Tracy, “but that is what I like to see,” and he motioned toward the crowd in the tent, and nodded over toward the place where the aviators were flying before a very small attendance. “And turning them away is a good sign. They’ll come back to-night—and others too I hope.”
This hope was also realized, for another record-breaking crowd assembled for the evening performance.
“We’ll make up what we lost by staying here another day,” said Mr. Sampson. “Things begin to look brighter.”
Every one felt much better. Perhaps Joe best of all, for it had been permitted him to bring about the good luck.
The fact seemed to be that the public wanted to see a person in an air craft at close range, which they could do in Joe’s case as he flew slowly over their heads.
A biplane or monoplane moves so swiftly that it is soon beyond the range of the spectators, and only appears like a speck in the sky. But Joe, though he could go high when he wished, remained near the earth, thus enabling every one in the circus tents to see how his machine was operated and how he steered it. This, perhaps, was the reason why such crowds came to the circus after Joe had advertised himself by winning the aviation prize.
The third day of the circus in Rockport was also marked by a record-breaking attendance, and there was jubilation among the partners. They would have stayed another two days, which would have marked the end of the aviation meet, and which would have insured them more patrons, but they had other dates to fill, so they moved on.
Not, however, before several of the aviators had called on Joe to examine more closely the Bat. All of them agreed that it was a clever piece of work, but they said, with Joe, that for quick work kept up for a long distance, it was not to be compared with a monoplane or a biplane.
“Its chief value,” said the man who had so nearly beaten Joe, “is its smallness. It would be great in war, I think, for an army could carry several of these small machines, and a man could go up, take an observation, and come back with much less trouble than in one of the big machines we have.”
“Well, I don’t fancy going to war,” laughed Joe.
Once more the big show moved on, and the “hoo-doo” which seemed to have fallen on the finances appeared to be broken. For after the performances in Rockport the circus played to good business in several cities in succession. Joe, Benny Turton, Helen, with her horse, Rosebud, Bill Watson, and one or two others were the “stars” of the circus, and its chief attractions.
Joe, as may well be imagined, was almost a show in himself. He rode his motor-cycle across the high wire, giving an exhibition in marksmanship that was very difficult, for he had to steer his machine with his knees as he shot the pistols at the glass balls or toy balloons. Then, having thrilled the crowds in that fashion, he got inside the Bat and circled about the tent. And once again in this part of his work Joe introduced something new.
Helen saw him outside his dressing room one day, inside the main dressing tent, juggling with a number of red balls.
“What are you doing, Joe?” she asked. “You’re not going back to your sleight-of-hand work, are you?”
“Not exactly,” he answered. “But I don’t want to get rusty, and I’m practising so I can do this when I’m flying in the Bat. I think it will make the act a little livelier.”
“I think it would if you dropped them on the heads of persons in the audience,” Helen said with a laugh.
“That’s why I’m practising—so I won’t drop them,” Joe replied. “Anyhow, they’re so light they wouldn’t hurt much, but I don’t want to do any ragged juggling like that. Hence the practice,” and he went on tossing the balls up in the air, skillfully catching them, sometimes using one hand and sometimes two.
After considerable practice, the youth felt that he had gotten back enough of his former skill to try juggling while he was flying. He did not succeed very well when he first practised with the machine in an empty tent. But he kept at it and at last announced he was ready to put on a new act.
“Good!” exclaimed the ring-master. “Go to it, Joe!”
Joe did. And that day, while flying about the tent over the heads of the audience, the young airman tossed up the red balls and caught them, keeping them circulating in the air.
It was simple enough in itself, but when it is remembered that Joe had to give considerable attention to the steering of his machine—up and down as well as sideways—and look after the controlling of the motors, varying the vibration of the wings in making turns, and do this while using his hands for juggling, it will be seen that it was not quite easy. The young experimenter had been obliged to make a little different arrangement in the mechanism to enable him to use his hands freely.
Joe’s variation of his flying act acted as a new stimulus to the applause of the crowd, and he received so many “hands,” as this sort of appreciation is called, that some of the other performers were more jealous of him than ever. But that was only natural.
In addition to all this Joe did an act with Benny in the tank, using the same plan that he had found so laughable—that of the rustic pretending to catch the seal and falling in. This never failed to bring forth a laugh.
Joe’s fame spread, especially after his winning of the aviation prize, and one day he received a letter from a rival circus, making him an offer of a high salary if he would transfer his work to their tents. The offer was a good one, the salary being much larger than the one Joe was then getting.
“Well, I would like the extra money,” he mused, “especially as I don’t seem to be going to get mine from England. But I must play square with my friends. I can’t desert them now.”
Joe was going to say nothing of the offer to Jim Tracy or Mr. Sampson, for he did not think they could afford to increase his salary, and he did not want to cause them worry, as they had been very good to him.
But he spoke of the matter to Helen, and, she, saying nothing to Joe about it, privately informed the ring-master.
“Joe is entitled to get all he can,” she said, “but he doesn’t want to tell you about the offer for fear you will think he is trying to force you to raise his salary.”
“I’m glad you told me,” said Jim Tracy. “Your idea is right—a performer is entitled to all he can get. Nor do I blame the other circus for trying to get Joe. But we’re not going to let him go. I’ll have a talk with him.”
Joe was surprised when the ring-master spoke of the letter.
“I wasn’t going to say anything about it,” said Joe.
“I know you weren’t, and I appreciate your motive. But I found out. And I want to say, Joe, that I have taken up the matter with the other owners, and we have decided not to raise your salary.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t expect you to,” and Joe wondered at the smile on Jim’s face.
“No, we’re not going to raise your salary, but we’re going to do something better. We are going to give you an interest in the show, and if we keep on doing as good business as we have the last few weeks, and if you continue to draw, as I know you will, you’ll have a larger salary than even the other people offered.”
Joe was so surprised that he hardly knew what to say, but he managed to stammer his thanks. A few days later legal steps were taken that made him one of the Sampson Brothers’ partners.
“Oh, Joe, I’m so glad!” Helen exclaimed, her eyes shining.
“So am I!” he answered. “Was it you who told about the offer from the other circus?”
“How’d you guess?” she laughed, and blushed.
“It wasn’t very hard, seeing that you were the only one I told,” Joe replied.
It was about a week after this that, as Joe was resting after the afternoon performance, a messenger came to him, saying:
“There’s an elderly man outside asking for you. Shall I show him in?”
“What’s his name?”
“He said he didn’t want to give it except to you.”
Joe thought for a moment.
“It may be some word from my English estate,” he mused. “I’ll see the man,” he told the messenger.
An aged man, with gray hair, a bushy beard, and queer, sharp, darting eyes came shuffling in.
“Are you the young fellow who made the flying machine, and sails in it?” he asked. The lad thought he had to deal with a curiosity-seeker and was sorry he had let him in.
“Yes, I made the Bat,” Joe answered. “I’m sorry that I have no time now to——”
“Hush!” exclaimed the old man. “Can any one hear what we say? It must be kept secret. Listen! I am an inventor, and I have discovered something that will be of great value if put on your apparatus. May I tell you about it?”