The Safety First Club fights fire

It meant war. The result of the class meeting was so accepted by both the club and its opponents; and though Sam speculated long and earnestly on the reasons for the sudden enmity, he did not attempt to deceive himself about the ugly fact. It was plain that somebody was shrewdly taking advantage of the situation to work harm for the Safety Firsts, and he had no doubt of the identity of the schemer. Why Zorn should have been moved to this pernicious activity Sam did not know: mere lack of friendliness hardly explained it. Zorn had spread the story of the Trojan’s disaster, and had added a most unfavorable version of Sam’s participation. He had worked on popular prejudice against both a cheat and a telltale. These things were to be regarded as accomplished. The practical question remained, what was to be done about them?

Sam had no ready answer to the question. The most he could do was to counsel prudence to the more radical and excitable of the club, urge all the members to watch carefully for anything which might have a bearing upon the affair of the Trojan, and advise especially close study of the doings of Zorn, in an effort to discover, among other things, the cause of his active enmity. On this point the other members of the club could give Sam little light. There had been no bitter quarrel with Zorn; none of the boys could recall any ground for an abiding grudge.

As was to be expected, the club drew closer together than ever. It formed hollow square, as it were, against all attacks. On its side, the other faction showed no desire for reconciliation.

Spring usually saw a series of inter-class baseball games. This year was no exception to the rule; but none of the Safety Firsts played on the Junior nine. The Trojan, perhaps the best second baseman in the school, was passed over; Tom Orkney and Sam, both fair players, were left out. Even the Shark, highly esteemed as an inerrant scorer, was refused recognition. The slights were deliberate, inescapable, undeniable. And baseball was but one among many instances of the feeling of the majority of the class.

On the club’s part all this was received defiantly. Cold shoulder was met by cold shoulder. Sam had no difficulty in keeping his chums in line. Orkney aided him greatly in the task of coaching the Trojan in Latin, and added timely and encouraging suggestions, which were sorely needed. Still smarting under the sense of essentially unfair treatment, the Trojan would have been glad to quit the school. Again and again he rebelled at appearing at the recitations he was permitted to attend, and it required all of Sam’s tact and firmness and Orkney’s encouragement to hold him to his work under the existing conditions. Herman Boyd also lent a hand occasionally, although he was not of much help as a tutor. As for the Shark, he went his way imperturbably. Give him a sufficiency of his beloved mathematics, and he cared not a straw for the opinion of the multitude. Poke and Step had developed some mysterious interest of their own, which kept them busy of afternoons in Poke’s barn. Sam asked no questions about their enterprise. If they wished to hold it a secret, he had no objections.

Sam, in these days, though, felt the double burden of responsibility and unpopularity. Lon Gates, who made it a business to observe him closely, noted his preoccupation and demanded the cause.

“Let’s put our heads together, Sam,” he advised. “They say it’s like lumps o’ sugar in a cup o’ coffee—two’s better’n one. Come now! Out with it!”

Sam hesitated. “I—I—what’d be the use?”

“Dunno yet; that’s for the pair of us to find out.”

“But——”

“But, to begin with,” said Lon briskly, “what’s Ed Zorn got against you?”

“Ed Zorn? Who’s been telling you? I didn’t let it out, did I?”

“Dunno what you may have been talkin’ in your sleep, but I’ll acquit you on what you’ve said while awake.”

“How did you find out?”

“Mebbe I hain’t found much—I’d like to know jest how much. That’s why I’m comin’ to headquarters and askin’ you.”

Sam cherished independence, but at heart he welcomed this opening to talk things over.

“Tell me what you’ve heard,” he suggested.

“After you, sonny—mebbe,” said Lon. “Fire ahead!”

Then Sam told his story, Lon listening most attentively.

“Umph! Fits like the two ends of a busted wish-bone,” he declared.

“Show me your end, then,” urged Sam.

“No. You go on. You’ve said what’s happened to your crowd. Now, what are you tryin’ to have happen to other folks?”

Sam explained what the club had done. “We’re sticking together, of course,” he added. “We’re trying to keep the Trojan up to the mark.”

“Hard work?”

Sam grinned a little wryly. “It isn’t as hard as it is going to be—I can see that clearly enough.”

“Gesso—it’s the stickin’ part o’ the plaster that worries—and that does the real good in the long run.”

“But you haven’t told your part of the story yet,” Sam pointed out.

“’Tain’t a whole lot. It merely bears out your notion that Zorn is gunnin’ for you. But what’s his reason?”

“I don’t know,” Sam confessed. “We’ve been more or less on the outs, but there was no trouble to justify such a grudge as he must have.”

Lon nodded. “My notion, too—from what I’d picked up by scoutin’ round. And I have been seein’ and hearin’ all there was to hear and see, Sam.”

“What’s your theory, then?”

“Theory’s too strong a word—make it guess.

“Well, my guess is that if I was goin’ to prescribe for your case, I’d dose you for politics—school politics. And if that guess is right, I don’t wonder you’re worried. It’s your fust attack, and a feller with his fust touch o’ politics is a good deal like a chap gettin’ acquainted with the hives—he feels as if he was in trouble all over.”

Sam grinned again. “You talk as if you’d had experience, Lon.”

“Umph! Guess I had! Run for third selectman once.”

“And they beat you?”

“They didn’t—that was jest the difficulty. I learned fast enough. And I got enough. I was willin’ to doff the spangles and retire to private life after one term, I tell you!”

“What happened to you?”

“A-plenty! But it’s your case we’re discussin’. Now, if I hain’t forgot all I ever knew about youngsters, there wouldn’t naterally ’a’ been all this stir and circus over a feller takin’ a book where he hadn’t oughter ’a’ took it—and there wouldn’t ’a’ been, either, all this fuss about your givin’ him away and turnin’ state’s evidence, and——”

“But I didn’t,” Sam interrupted.

“I know that well enough. So would the fellers in your class know it, if they stopped to think over the kind o’ goods you’re made of. But they ain’t stoppin’ to think, because the somebody who’s raisin’ all the Cain is keepin’ ’em goin’. It’s a heap like drivin’ cattle. So long’s they’re kept on the move, they’ll tramp along, raisin’ enough dust to keep ’em from seein’ anything in particular. Same way with humans! The driver at your school is takin’ care not to let the herd stop and the dust settle. Pooty good manager, he is!”

Sam nodded. “Yes—if you call it managing.”

Lon was silent for a moment. Then said he, gravely:

“I’ve been talkin’ to you about politics. Now, there’s good politics, and there’s bad politics; but I’m mortal sure it’s bad politics you’re facin’. My tip jest backs up yours. I guess we can bank that between ’em we’re on the right track as to who’s doin’ things, even if we don’t know why he’s doin’ ’em. But, after all, that ain’t the main p’int—which is, what are you goin’ to do about it?”

“Why—why, I’ve tried to tell you.”

“You’ve told more about what you’ve done than about what you’re goin’ to do. So far, you’re all right, Sam. But what’s the comin’ program?”

Sam hesitated. “I—why, I suppose—I——” Then he had an inspiration. “Look here, Lon! What’s your advice?”

“Stick to it!” said Lon emphatically. “Hold your crowd up to the mark. You’re right; the other feller’s wrong. He’s bound to lose in the end. If things didn’t work out that way in the long run, this old world would ’a’ needed a ‘Tenants wanted’ sign back in the time o’ the cave-men. Fight it out, Sam; fight it out, if it takes all summer!”

“Looks as if it might,” Sam confessed.

Lon dropped a hand on his shoulder. “You stand to your guns, sonny! And you make your club stand to theirs. Find something to amuse ’em, something outdoors. I’m great on the open-air treatment.... Let’s see! If ’twas vacation, I’d say, go campin’. But, say! you can work a scheme sorter in that line, anyhow. Why don’t you turn to and build a shack in the woods near town? Oughtn’t to be too close—let ’em have plenty of exercise, travelin’ back and forth.”

Sam meditated briefly. “I—well, I do know of that cracking place—out by the lake. It’s pretty far, though.”

“That’s no objection—not for your purpose. Every time you walk ’em a mile, there’s fifteen or twenty minutes used up that won’t be put into mopin’. Get the idea?”

“Yes,” said Sam, “I do.”

“’Tain’t the wust I ever offered you, son.”

“The more I think of it, the better I like it,” said Sam; and departed to offer Lon’s suggestion to the other members of the club.

The Trojan received it with indifference. “I don’t care—I’m just a passenger,” he declared. Orkney at once said yes, and said it heartily. Herman Boyd was ready for anything. The Shark had no objections to interpose. Then Sam sought out Poke, and found him in his barn, with Step bearing him company.

It was not lost upon Sam that when the pair appeared, in answer to his hail, they took care to close the big door of the barn behind them. He plunged at once into his errand, and was a bit disappointed to note that neither of the others displayed much enthusiasm.

“Oh, I guess it’ll be all right—if you say so,” quoth Poke. “Of course, we’re awfully busy, and there’s lots to do, and—er—er—but you mostly know what you’re about, Sam.”

“Yes, but we’re mighty busy, you know,” contributed Step.

Sam glanced keenly at the pair. The hands of both were grimy, and there were certain greasy spots on their clothes, which stirred his curiosity and reminded him of the mysterious occupation to which they had been giving their spare time.

“What’s up?” he demanded. “Out with it!”

Poke glanced at Step, and Step shot an uneasy glance at Poke.

“Oh, if it is something you don’t care to talk about——” Sam began.

Poke cleared his throat. “Ahem, ahem! It—look here, Sam! It is a sort of a secret, and yet I don’t know why we shouldn’t tell you. Course, we wouldn’t want it gossiped all over town—we can’t have the crowd coming here and trying to get a sight of—of IT! But you—why, it’s different with you, you know.”

“And he’d have to find out sooner or later, anyway,” said Step, in a stage whisper.

“He would—might as well tell him now,” responded Poke. “But it’s to go no farther,” he added, addressing Sam. “You’ll understand why, when I tell you.”

“Fire ahead!” said Sam. “I can’t say I understand anything yet.”

There was no outsider in sight, but Poke lowered his voice.

“You remember that motor I bought? The one from the smashed machine—haven’t forgotten it, have you?”

Sam had not forgotten the incident of the purchase from Mr. Haskins, though he had thought very little about it for some days.

“What! That crazy deal?” he said. “What’s your game?”

“You may call the deal what you please,” said Poke with dignity, “but I won’t admit it was crazy.”

“Never mind that part of it. Go on, go on!” Sam urged. He was recalling, not too distinctly, a story somebody had told him of seeing Poke and Step driving into town with something carefully covered in the back of their wagon. “Go on, I say! You fished the motor out of the wreck, didn’t you, and brought it in?”

“I did,” said Poke.

“We did,” Step corrected.

“Got it here?”

“Yes,” said Poke and Step together.

“Well, what are you going to do with it?”

Step started to say something, and changed his mind. The result was an extraordinary gasp. But Sam understood. Tempted as he was to proclaim great news, Step was surrendering that honor to his chum.

Poke drew a long breath. Then he spoke explosively:

“Flying machine! We’re making one!”

The reception of the sensational tidings should have satisfied Poke’s yearning for dramatic effects. Sam dropped weakly upon a horse-block, which happened to be conveniently near. He stared at Poke blankly.

“You—you’re making a—a flying machine!”

“I am!” Poke declared promptly.

“We are,” Step hastened to amend.

Poke nodded. “Sure! That’s right. We’re both in it.”

“But it was Poke’s idea,” testified Step generously.

“Maybe, but Step has taken hold like a good fellow and helped a lot,” averred Poke, not to be outdone in fairness.

Sam waved an impatient hand. “That’s all right. Tell me about the machine. What is it? Zeppelin?”

“Of course not!” cried Poke. “Zeppelin nothing! It’ll be a plane.”

“Monoplane or biplane?”

“Why—why, we’re working on two or three plans. We’ll see which works out best. They say a monoplane is faster, and a biplane safer. We haven’t settled all the details yet.”

“Go ahead! Tell me some more.”

“Yes, let him have the whole thing,” Step advised.

“Well, it was this way,” Poke explained. “You know that day out by the lake? When Haskins told us about the machine running away with him, he mentioned that it had a mighty high-speed motor—one that’d do in a flying machine, he said. That set me thinking.”

“Poke’s a crackerjack when it comes to that sort of thing,” Step observed admiringly.

Poke modestly disregarded the tribute. “Struck me, Sam, there was my chance. You know I’m in debt to all you fellows——”

“Nonsense!” Sam broke in. “We’ve told you to forget it.”

“How’s a fellow going to forget such things? I couldn’t, if I wanted to. And I saw my chance. You know what they pay aviators for exhibitions at county fairs and such places?”

“No! Do you?” Sam asked pointedly.

“Yes, sir, I do! Hundred dollars a crack! Read it in a paper.”

“Oh!”

“Well, I saw the whole thing in a flash. If I got that high-speed motor and rigged up a plane, and learned to run it—why, two or three exhibitions would pay all my debts and put me on Easy Street. And think of all the fun I’d have! And Step—he—well, minute I suggested it to him, he saw the whole thing just as clearly as I did.”

“Don’t doubt he did,” said Sam.

“So he said he’d take hold and help. He did, and we’re working together. He’ll be entitled to a full share in the credit.”

“Except for inventing the idea, to begin with,” Step corrected.

“Oh, there’ll be glory enough for all,” said Poke easily.

Sam coughed. “H-g-h! I—I guess I understand. Say, though! Your folks know about all this?”

“They know we’re doing something in the barn. And they don’t care.”

“Said so, have they?”

“Well, not—not exactly. But they haven’t tried to stop us. We don’t keep a horse now, you know, so they don’t have to come out this way often. But they wouldn’t mind, anyway.”

Sam did not press the point. “Look here, Poke!” said he. “I don’t know much about flying machines, but the little I know makes me think they’ve got to be all right, or they’ll be all wrong. So, unless you understand how to build ’em——”

“But I do! Saw an article in a magazine and saved it. It’s just full of diagrams and dimensions and all that sort of thing.”

“But there must be problems of weights to be lifted—engine weight, your weight, and so on. And you’ve got to figure out the size of the planes to suit the load and the power.”

Poke waved a lordly hand. “Humph! Don’t you suppose I know that? And don’t you suppose I’m looking out for such details? Well, I am! You trust your Uncle Dudley to be crafty in a thing like this!”

“But——” Sam began; then checked his speech. It was clear that Poke and Step were committed to their amazing enterprise. On the strength of long acquaintance with the pair he had no doubt that somehow or other they would contrive to come to grief; but he failed to see that there was anything he could do about it. Moreover, there were certain present advantages to the Safety First Club in having two of its members so thoroughly occupied.

Poke wagged his head sagely. “Don’t think, Sam, that I’m going into this thing blindfolded. It’s a scientific scheme, and I’m putting it through scientifically. Just you wait and see!”

“All right—I’ll wait. But isn’t there anything to see yet?”

The others exchanged glances.

“Why—why, no,” said Poke. “You can come in and take a look. Of course, we’re messed up, but maybe you can get an idea of what we’re at.”

Sam followed him into the barn. Because doors were kept closed and horse blankets had been hung at windows to preserve secrecy, the place was somewhat dim; but he made out the motor, set upon a pair of wooden horses, with a confusion of wrenches and other tools about it. In the background was a gaunt framework of bamboo poles and wire.

“For the planes,” Poke explained. “We’re still experimenting. But we’re getting there; we learn something every day.”

Sam made observation as closely as he could, but without great enlightenment.

“Well, live and learn,” he remarked, non-committally. “And when do you expect to have the—er—er—the thing finished?”

“Oh, pretty soon,” Poke told him. “We’re getting along faster than you’d think. Step is a star at a job like this.”

“Well, I do seem to be able to work out Poke’s ideas when he can’t do it himself,” Step admitted.

Sam cleared his throat. “Ahem, ahem! I—well, I guess my opinion isn’t of much value, anyway. But there’s something else I want to talk about with you fellows. Now, listen!” And he repeated, rapidly but clearly, the project for a camp near the lake.

Step did not appear to be impressed, but Poke was more responsive.

“Great scheme, Sam! Good sport! Besides, it’ll give us a chance to have the try-outs with the machine without a whole parcel of folks looking on and yawping. Those open fields this side of the woods by the lake will be a bully place—nice and private and plenty of elbow room. Say, I’m with you!”

“Then I am, too, of course,” said Step. “When’ll you start in?”

“Very soon,” Sam told him.

Poke furrowed his brow. “Say, I’m afraid we won’t be able to help much at first; we’ll be busy here, you know. But a little later——”

“Oh, that’ll be all right,” Sam hastened to assure him. “The main thing’s to keep the club together.”

“Sure!” said the others in chorus.

“And that’s always the main thing,” Poke added heartily.