Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net The Aeroplane Boys Series The Stolen Aeroplane OR How Bud Wilson Made Good The Aeroplane Boys Series By ASHTON LAMAR I. IN THE CLOUDS FOR UNCLE SAM Or, Morey Marshall of the Signal Corps. II. THE STOLEN AEROPLANE Or, How Bud Wilson Made Good. III. THE BOY AVIATORâS GRIT Or, The Aeroplane Express. IV. THE BOY AVIATORSâ CLUB Or, Flying For Fun. OTHER TITLES TO FOLLOW These stories are the newest and most up-to-date. All aeroplane details are correct. Fully illustrated. Colored frontispiece. Cloth, 12mos. Price, 60c Each. The Airship Boys Series By H. L. SAYLER I. THE AIRSHIP BOYS Or, The Quest of the Aztec Treasure. II. THE AIRSHIP BOYS ADRIFT Or, Saved by an Aeroplane. III. THE AIRSHIP BOYS DUE NORTH Or, By Balloon to the Pole. IV. THE AIRSHIP BOYS IN BARREN LANDS Or, The Secret of the White Eskimos. These thrilling stories deal with the wonderful new science of aerial navigation. Every boy will be interested and instructed by reading them. Illustrated. Cloth binding. Price, $1.00 each. The above books are sold everywhere or will be sent postpaid on receipt of price by the Publishers The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago _Complete catalog sent, postpaid, on request_ [Illustration: âSTOP! IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!â] The Stolen Aeroplane OR How Bud Wilson Made Good BY ASHTON LAMAR [Illustration: _The_ AEROPLANE BOYS SERIES] Illustrated by M. G. Gunn Chicago The Reilly & Britton Co. Publishers COPYRIGHT, 1910, by THE REILLY & BRITTON CO. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED THE STOLEN AEROPLANE CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I AN IDLE BOY GETS A JOB 9 II THE HERO OF THE GRAVEL PIT 21 III SCOTTSVILLEâS FAIR SECURES AN AVIATOR 33 IV A MIDNIGHT LUNCH 44 V MADAME ZECATACAS READS THE FUTURE 57 VI THE GYPSY QUEENâS TALISMAN 70 VII A FOOLHARDY TRICK IN AN AEROPLANE 84 VIII AMATEUR VERSUS PROFESSIONAL 95 IX BUD MAKES A STRANGE CONTRACT 106 X THE FLIGHT IN THE DARK 117 XI DUMPED INTO THE MARSH 131 XII THE ROMNEY RING BRINGS NEWS 143 XIII A UNIQUE STARTING DEVICE 155 XIV AN EXHIBITION UNDER DIFFICULTIES 169 XV THE ENEMY OUTWITTED ONCE MORE 182 XVI BUD DISCOVERS A FRIEND 197 XVII THE PRIVATE OFFICE OF THE FIRST NATIONAL BANK 211 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS âStop! In the name of the law!â _Frontispiece_ Bud bargains for coffee. 53 The start from the flume. 165 Mr. Camp drew out an envelope. 201 The Stolen Aeroplane OR, How Bud Wilson Made Good CHAPTER I AN IDLE BOY GETS A JOB. âHere she comes.â Dougâ Jackson, the driver of the Scottsville House âbus, rose from the edge of the depot platform, hitched up his trousers, and motioned the usual depot loungers back to safety. All were waiting for passenger train No. 22, west bound, due at 11:15 A. M., and late, as usual. âSheâs made up seven minutes,â Dougâ announced authoritatively after consulting a large silver watch. âSheâs fanninâ--git back there, you kids.â No one else yet saw or heard the approaching train, whose proximity was only detected by Dougâs long experience in such matters; but all necks were craned toward the grade east of town and the curve at its far end. One of these anxious watchers was Mr. Josiah Elder, a man just beyond middle age, who shaved every morning down to a round patch of whiskers on a prolonged chin, and whose white starched shirt and heavy gold watch chain proclaimed him a person of affairs. Just at present, a heavy coat of dust on a new, black, soft hat and on his dark trousers suggested that the morning had been spent out of doors, where the September drought had coated the town and country with suffocating dust. Mr. Elder was president of the Scottsville First National Bank. He was also president of the Scott County Joint Stock Agricultural and Trotting Association. And this was Wednesday morning of fair week. The president was hot, dusty, and had an anxious look. âHello, Mr. Elder,â exclaimed Dougâ hastily, lifting his cap with his badge as ârunnerâ on it, and glancing hastily along the track to be sure that his announcement had not been premature. âTrainâll be here right away.â âMorning,â replied the anxious fair official, looking toward a dusty, side-bar buggy and a lively looking horse hitched just beyond the âbus. âKeep your eye on my rig, Dougâ.â Just then a hollow whistle sounded far up the track, and a moment later, beneath a puff of white steam that drifted around the curve, a billow of black smoke told that No. 22 was âfanningâ down grade toward the town. âIâm lookinâ for a man named Dare--T. Glenn Dare. If you see him, he ainât goinâ to the hotel. Heâs goinâ with me.â âWhatâs the prospecâs fur fair week?â asked Dougâ, indicating that he understood. âI reckon that airshipâll bring out a fine attendance âbout Thursday.â âWe hope so,â replied Mr. Elder impressively. âIt is a novel attraction of great educational value. And it is an expensive feature. The people oâ Scott County should recognize our enterprise and turn out liberally.â âI reckon itâs goinâ to kind oâ crowd you to git everything in shape on time, ainât it? All the boxes and the injine is over there in the freight house yit.â âWe are waiting for Mr. Dare. Heâs the manufacturerâs agent and operator.â The oncoming train was already pounding over the switch track frogs at the town limits. Dougâ mustered up his courage, crowded a little closer to the disturbed fair official and exclaimed, nervously: âAll right, Mr. Elder, Iâll keep my eye out fur him. And your rigâll be all safe. Say, Mr. Elder, you couldnât spare me a ticket fur the fair, could ye?â But this appeal was lost. The mogul engine, hissing as if annoyed at its enforced stop in Scottsville, slid to a grinding stop, panted a few times, and then with a sharp clang of its bell and a deep snort, was off again. The crowd, always anxious to see the train come in, edged forward, fell back and grouped itself about a dozen arrivals. Two traveling men, or âdrummers,â Dougâ captured. The others were either not strangers to the depot crowd or easily identified by their luggage and costume as visitors from near by towns. Mr. T. Glenn Dare was not among those who alighted. Having made sure of this fact, President Elderâs strained look at once turned into one of complete annoyance. âI reckon yer man didnât git here,â remarked the talkative âbus driver. âMaybe heâll be on seventeen.â One look at the officialâs face convinced Dougâ that it was not the time to renew his request for a free ticket. Mr. Elder hurried into the depot, and with no attempt to restrain his anger, called up the ticket office of the fair association on the telephone. To some one, he rapidly explained that Mr. T. Glenn Dare, the expert who was to set up and operate the aeroplane for the fair directors had not arrived. The boxed and crated airship had been in the depot freight house for a week. It was now Tuesday of the week of the fair, and a flight had been advertised for Wednesday afternoon at three oâclock. Operator Dare, who was to make this at the rate of fifty dollars a day, had been expected Tuesday morning. âYes, I know,â answered the president to the person with whom he had been talking, âweâve saved one hundred dollars, but that ainât it. Weâve got to exhibit our aeroplane to-morrow, or let the people know we canât. Weâve paid one thousand eight hundred dollars in good money for the thing, and it ainât worth a nickel to us over there in the freight depot.â There was more talk, and then President Elder ended the conversation by announcing: âThere isnât any use to haul the boxes out to the ground, if the man donât come. Weâll wait until the night train. If he ainât on that, weâll send out bills callinâ the show off. Then weâll ship the machine back East and sue the company for failure to keep its contract. They agreed to have a competent man here, and theyâve thrown us down.â As the perspiring Mr. Elder came out of the hot ticket-office of the musty-smelling station and paused on the platform to wipe his red face, his eye fell on the freight-house across the tracks from the station. He glanced at his horse to see that it was all right, and then sprang across to the freight-depot. He had not yet seen the valuable crates consigned to him. The freight-agent had already gone to dinner. Entering the long shed, he glanced inquiringly about. It was half dark. âLookinâ for your aeroplane, Mr. Elder?â exclaimed a pleasant boyish voice from somewhere in the gloom. The banker and fair president traced the sounds to their source. At the far end of the room and opposite a rear door stood a mound of carefully packed and braced skeleton-like frames. On the edge of a heavy square box bound with steel bands, sat a boy of perhaps seventeen or eighteen. Although it was hot, the lad was wearing a heavy blue flannel shirt, a red neck tie, and a cheap, sailor hat. His low shoes were worn and old, and his socks gave signs of needing a motherâs care. He was slowly fanning himself with a big blue handkerchief. âIf you are,â added the boy, springing to his feet, âhere it is; and it looks like the real thing.â Instead of examining the aeroplane crates, Mr. Elderâs eye swept the boy from hat to shoes. âArenât you Bud Wilson?â he asked at last. âYes, sir. Attorney Cyrus Stockwell is my foster father.â âI thought so,â rejoined the banker tartly. âIâve heard of you. Lafe Pennington, of our bank, has told me about you.â The boy laughed--he had already taken off his discolored hat. âThen you didnât hear much good about me, thatâs certain.â âNo,â soberly answered the elder man, âto tell you the truth, Iâve never heard much good about you.â The boy laughed again, but in an embarrassed way, showed his confusion, and then said: âLafe and I never got along. But, he may be right. Iâve got a bad name.â âWhat are you doing here? You are old enough to be at work.â âThatâs it,â went on Bud, âI ought to be. I have a job promised me when I want it, out in the country. But Iâve been waitinâ to see this.â He pointed toward the dismantled airship. âWhat do you want to see? You havenât any business loafing in here. Have you been monkeyinâ with the machinery?â âOh! I know âem around here. And I ainât hurt nothing. No fear oâ that.â âWell, whatâs your interest?â âI want to see it. Iâve been waiting every day since it came. I want to be here when you move it. I want to help unpack it.â âYou? What do you know about aeroplanes?â âNothing--that is, almost nothing. But I guess I know a little. You know I ran Mr. Greeleyâs automobile nearly all summer. I understand motors. And--well, I do know something about aeroplanes. I tried to make one this summer.â A look of sudden interest showed in the bankerâs face. âOh, I remember now, you are the youngster that nearly broke his neck trying to fly.â âI suppose Lafe Pennington told that,â answered Bud, looking up. âWell, I didnât. I fell, but I lit on my feet, and I didnât even harm my aeroplane.â President Elder was looking over the big crates, and peering through the frames. Suddenly, he turned to Bud again. âWhat do you mean by _your_ aeroplane?â âIt wasnât really an aeroplane. That is, I didnât have an engine; but I made the wings; and I flew one hundred and fifty feet in them, too, out at Greeleyâs gravel pit.â âThen you know how an aeroplane is made?â âI think I do. They are all pretty much alike. When I see this one, Iâll know a lot more.â An idea was plainly working in President Elderâs brain. He made a searching examination of the lad before him. Then he asked: âDidnât you and Lafe Pennington work on this airship idea together?â Bud laughed outright. âHardly,â he answered, âLafe wouldnât work with any one. He knows too much. I worked alone.â President Elder looked at his watch. It was just noon. âDo you think you could put this airship together?â âCertainly, I put my own together.â âBud, meet me here at one oâclock. I may have a job for you.â While the bankerâs smart rig went clattering up the brick street, Bud started for home on a run. Long before one oâclock, Bud was at the freight-house again. In a short time, a dray and an express wagon appeared. About the time that a large farm wagon, drawn by two horses, came in sight, Mr. Elder reappeared. In the buggy with him was the young man referred to several times by Mr. Elder and Bud an hour before--Lafe Pennington. As they sprang from the vehicle, Bud was on the freight-house platform. Lafe passed the boy with a condescending smile; but Mr. Elder stopped. âBud,â he began, âI had a kind of a notion that I had a job for you, but I guess thatâs all off.â âI hoped you had. I hurried back.â âWell, itâs this way. I forgot that our clerk, Mr. Pennington, had some knowledge of aeroplanes. We are in a sort of a box, and after I talked to you, I decided to try to get this machine ready. The man who ought to do it isnât here. Even if he comes to-night, he wonât have time to set it up. So, while I talked to you, I decided to try to put it together and have it ready when he came. I was going to get you to help.â âCanât I?â asked the boy eagerly. âI donât think weâll need you now. Iâve got Mr. Pennington. He says he can do it without any trouble. And you know heâs in the bank, and I know him. Heâs one of our clerks.â âI reckon he can do it, perhaps,â answered Bud in a disappointed tone, âbut Iâd like to help too. Iâd work for nothing.â âI suggested that, but Mr. Pennington says heâd rather work alone.â Mr. Elder was about to pass on when Bud touched his sleeve. âMr. Elder,â he said, âLafe said that because he knew I was the only person in Scottsville who could help. I havenât anything against Lafe, but you ought to know the facts--I know more about aeroplanes than he does. He may be able to do what you want, and he may not. You may think Iâm knocking Lafe, but Iâm not. Iâm just giving you the truth: he thinks he knows more about airships than he really does.â âYou seem to feel sure you know it all,â almost sneered the banker. âI should say not,â answered the boy promptly. âI know hardly anything, and Lafe knows less.â âWell, if we get stuck, I suppose we can call on you.â âIâll be right there, waiting.â âPshaw,â exclaimed the banker laughing, âwe need plenty of help. Mr. Pennington may not want you, but I do. Turn in and give us a lift. Between us, weâll see what we can do. We are going to move these boxes out to the fair-ground, and see if we can put our aeroplane together. Youâre hired to help.â CHAPTER II THE HERO OF THE GRAVEL PIT. The Scott County Fair-grounds were a mile and a half from Scottsville. A little after two oâclock, the âaeroplaneâ cavalcade was on its way there from the freight-house. In front, rode President Elder of the fair association, with Lafayette, or Lafe, Pennington, the bank clerk and amateur dabbler in aeronautics, by his side. Then came a dray with the four-cylinder, 25-horse power, 190 lb. Curtiss engine elaborately crated. Next was an express wagon with boxed engine accessories, such as gasoline tank, water cooler, chain drives, and the dismounted propeller blades. In the rear, in the big farm wagon, rode proud Bud Wilson, busy preserving the balance of the spruce sections of the aeroplane surfaces. In the excitement attendant upon the fair, the procession attracted little attention. Buggies and passenger hacks raised clouds of dust in which wagons laden with belated exhibits made their way toward the great enclosure within whose high white fence Scott Countyâs agricultural exhibit was fast getting into final order. At the sight of President Elder, the gate attendants threw the white portals wide open, and Bud had a new joy--he was working for the fair, and didnât have to pay to get in. âI never did pay,â laughed Bud, speaking to the driver of the wagon, âbut this is the first time I ever went in at the main gate.â Winding their way among the plows, self-binders and threshing-machines already in place, and then directly between the two lines of peanut, pop, candy, cider and ânigger babyâ stands--already making a half-hearted attempt to attract trade--the aeroplane wagons passed through the heart of the grounds. Near the âgrand stand,â where for ten cents extra, one might view the trotting and running races, President Elder alighted and personally superintended the unlocking of the gates leading onto the race-track. Across this, the three vehicles made their way. At the far end of the space within the smooth half-mile race-track was a newly built shed, made according to directions forwarded from the aeroplane factory in New Jersey. In front of this, the wagons halted. There were not many persons in attendance that day on the fair, but there were enough to make an audience of several hundred at once. The aeroplane shed was a temporary structure--a shed with a board top and canvas sides. Willing hands soon had the different sections of the car either in the house or near by in front. Lafe Penningtonâs coat was off, and he superintended the unloading with a great show of authority. By this time, a carpenter and a machinist had arrived, and the officious bank clerk announced that spectators had better be dispersed in order that he might work undisturbed. âWhat do you want Bud to do?â asked President Elder. Lafe smiled feebly. âNothing just now,â he answered. âHe can stay outside and see that we are not disturbed. I donât think it will take us very long.â The confident clerk started to enter the shed. âHow about the starting track and the derrick for the drop weight?â asked Bud innocently. âI donât see any material here for those.â Lafe stopped suddenly, and looked up in surprise. âYes, of course,â he faltered, âwhere are they?â âI donât know what you mean,â said President Elder. âI guess everythingâs here.â Pennington made a quick survey. âOh, they are not here,â explained Bud. âI discovered that some days ago.â âYouâre right,â conceded Lafe. âThey must have forgotten them. Weâll have to telegraph for them.â âTelegraph nothing,â blurted the president. âWeâve no time for telegraphing. They canât get âem here in time. If itâs something you have to have, I guess we are stuck.â âPerhaps,â suggested Bud, âthe manufacturers expected you to make this apparatus on the ground. The ropes and automatic release block are here.â âHow can we do that?â sneered Pennington, already irritated at the turn affairs were taking. âVery easily, I imagine,â replied Bud, âif they sent specifications. The manufacturer sent word how to build a shed and how big to make it. Didnât they send a letter?â he asked, turning to President Elder. âLetter? Why, yes--I forgot that--a big letter,â exclaimed Mr. Elder, reaching into his inside pocket. Pennington took it, glanced it over hurriedly, and exclaimed: âSure, here it is, sketch, measurement, and all.â âCouldnât I look after that?â asked Bud turning from the president to Lafe. âThatâs carpentersâ work,â answered Pennington at once. âWeâll have the carpenters see to that. They can order the stuff by âphone at once.â He turned again to begin the work of uncrating the aeroplane. âHow long do you figure itâs going to take to put the car together, Lafe?â asked Bud. âI donât know,â retorted Pennington sharply, âbut Iâll get along all the faster if Iâm not stopped to talk about it.â âIt ought to be done to-night, shouldnât it?â queried Bud, turning to the president and showing no irritation. âCertainly, if possible.â âThen we ought to get some lights--three or four gasoline flares. That work canât be done before dark. Itâs going to take all night. Itâs a tejous job. And after the frame is set up and made fast, the engine must be tested and anchored and the shafts set.â âHadnât we better get the lights ready?â asked Mr. Elder of Pennington. âOf course, weâll need them,â answered Pennington, who had in reality not thought of them. âBetter let Bud go to town for them.â âAll right. Here Bud, take my horse and buggy and go to town, and get whatâs needed at Appletonâs hardware store. Iâll be at the ticket office when you get back.â Pennington had disposed of his rival temporarily, but Bud took his defeat cheerfully. However, he could not resist the temptation to turn the tables once more. âWant anything else?â he asked casually as he climbed into the rig. âNothing more now,â answered Pennington, turning away for the third time. âYou want gasoline for the lamps, donât you?â suggested Bud. âCertainly--and matches, too,â said Lafe with another sneer. âWell, how about some gasoline for the engine?â Lafe grew red in the face, and turned away impatiently. âAnd some oil for the engine?â âYou donât expect a fellow to think of everything at once, do you?â snorted Lafe. âI havenât been hanging over this thing for a week. Iâve had something else to think about.â âSeems as if Bud had done a good deal of thinking,â suggested President Elder. âHurry back, Bud, we may need you again.â Bud Wilson had long been pointed out as the prize example of juvenile perverseness. Many persons, including Lafe Pennington, were in the habit of referring to him as a âbadâ boy. But in this, they were wrong. Budâs differences from other boys of better reputation meant no more than that he was headstrong and so full of ideas that the routine of school went hard with him. The boy often shocked his teacher. Instead of the old-fashioned speaking pieces, Bud was apt to select some up-to-date newspaper story or verse. Once he even ventured to recite some poetry of his own, in which Miss Abbott, the teacher, did not particularly shine. When he was left an orphan and went to live with Attorney Cyrus Stockwell, the lively youngster gave up most of his school hours to drawing engines. At that time, he planned to be an engineer. Succeeding that, he aspired to be a detective. In this new ambition, he read a great deal of literature concerning crime. But this new profession was soon forgotten with the advent of aeroplanes. From the moment Bud realized what a heavier-than-air flying-machine meant, he was a rapt disciple of the worldâs new aviators. Verses of his own and detective stories were now forgotten. Given the task of writing an essay, by Miss Abbott, for some lapse of discipline, he produced a wonderful composition on âThe Airship.â It was so full of Jules Verne ideas that Miss Abbott visited Budâs foster father, and suggested that something be done with the boy. The something that Attorney Stockwell did was to take Bud out of school and put him at work on rich Mr. Greeleyâs farm, where, for a time, he labored in a gravel pit shovelling. Learning to operate the steam shovel, he became the engineer, and after that, for some months in the summer, he had been Mr. Greeleyâs chauffeur. Just now he was back home without a job, and a half promise of another try at school when it opened. Lafe Pennington was everything Bud wasnât. He graduated from the high-school, and was a clerk in the First National Bank. He was popular with the young ladies, and already wore a moustache. Lafeâs interest in aeronautics was older than Budâs, but his knowledge was largely superficial. Young Penningtonâs information did not extend much further than what he had written in an essay he read before the Scottsville Travel and Study Circle. This paper, entitled âThe Development of the Aeroplane,â had been printed in the Globe-Register. Ever since its publication, Lafe had been trying to live up to the reputation it had brought him. When Bud Wilson read the article, he at once pronounced it a âchestnut,â and declared that it was copied almost wholly from a magazine and an old one at that. Bud repeated this statement to Lafe himself on the memorable occasion when the aeroplane or glider dumped Bud. While running the steam shovel at Greeleyâs gravel pit, Bud had the long summer evenings to himself. There was a tool house, plenty of lumber, and, what prompted the manufacture of the small aeroplane, several long, steep switch tracks running down into the pit. After several weeks of work, based on a mass of magazine photographs, newspaper clippings, and scientific paper detailed plans, Bud finally constructed a pretty decent looking bi-plane airship, complete in all respects except as to the engine. It was a combination of the Curtiss planes and the Wright rudders, with some ideas of Budâs in the wing warping apparatus. This work was done in the abandoned engine house on the slope of the gravel hill above the pit. Lafe learned of the experiment through Mr. Greeley, who was rather proud of his young engineer, and who did not fail to talk about the amateur airship to those in the bank. As chief aviation authority in Scottsville, Lafe felt it his duty to investigate. And, to Budâs annoyance, the bank clerk made his first visit to the gravel pit on a Saturday afternoon just as Bud was about to make a trial flight. âWhat do you think of her?â asked Bud proudly. Lafe screwed up his mouth. âPretty fair, for a kid. But whatâs the sense of it? You havenât an engine, and I reckon you never will have one.â âWhatâs the good of it?â repeated Bud. âI suppose you know the heavier-than-air car--the aeroplane--was developed before the experimenters had any power. If the Wright Brothers had waited for an engine, theyâd never had a machine. The thing is to know how to fly. You can only learn by flying.â Lafe smiled in a superior way. âAll right,â he laughed. âGo ahead. Iâll see that you have a decent funeral.â Lafe even helped Bud carry the fragile frame down to the head of the switch track grade where Bud had a small tool car--no larger than a hand car. On this the motorless planes were deposited, and when Bud had taken his place on his stomach on the lower frame, an idle workman gave the car a shove. To young Penningtonâs gratification, the experiment was a fiasco. Even after several trials, it was found that the car would not get up sufficient momentum. The model would not leave the moving platform. Finally, Bud got grease for the car wheels, and then stood up with his arm pits resting on the light framework. As the car reached the bottom of the incline, the boy sprang forward. For one moment, the surfaces caught and held the air and the planes seemed about to rise. Then, with a sudden twist, the frame sprang sideways and downward. Budâs feet struck the gravel and he stumbled. To keep from mixing up with the car, he hurled it from him. The aeroplane sank down with only a few strains, but Bud landed on the side of his face. The following Saturday, as a sort of a challenge, Bud invited Lafe and a reporter for the Globe-Register to witness his second attempt. This time he abandoned the car. The gravel pit had been cut into the side of the hill. At the edge of the pit, there was a sharp drop of nearly fifty feet. When his guests were ready, Bud had them raise the light car--only twenty feet long--on his shoulders. Balancing the planes, he gripped the lower struts, and before Lafe or the reporter had time to protest, he ran a few feet down the slope--the car had been removed to the old engine house on the hill at the brink of the pit--and stumbled over the precipice. His guests caught their breaths. But Bud did not fall. When he reached the gravel bed at the bottom, he had flown one hundred and fifty feet, and he came down easily and safely. It was the account of this in the Globe-Register, under the title of âFirst Aeroplane in Scott Countyâ that cemented Lafeâs jealousy of Budâs nerve. CHAPTER III SCOTTSVILLEâS FAIR SECURES AN AVIATOR. When Bud returned from town, he had a buggy full of material--three large cans of gasoline, three gasoline flare torches, oil, waste, and--what proved to be most essential--his scrap book of airship pictures and plans. Everything was confusion in the airship shed. The crowd had pretty well cleaned out, but Lafe Pennington and his two assistants did not seem to be working with any more ease because of this. On top of a box, the manufacturerâs drawings and directions were spread out. One thing only seemed to have been accomplished; everything was uncrated. âPut the stuff down, and donât bother us,â exclaimed Lafe at once. âThere are too many in here now. I wonât need you any more.â Before he took his departure, Bud made a hasty examination. Apparently everything was being done backward. Penningtonâs eagerness to unpack and to knock boxes apart had made a chaos out of the shed interior. There were no signs of work on the ascending track and weight derrick. âSure you donât want me to get that track started?â Bud asked. âSee here, Bud, you seem to have that track on the brain. Iâll set it up in a couple of hours when I get around to it.â âOh,â answered Bud, with a smile, âI thought it might take longer.â The dismissed boy re-entered the buggy, and drove to the ticket office at the gate. Mr. Elder appeared in a short time with the Superintendent of the Grounds. The possibility of keeping faith with the public by flying the aeroplane the next afternoon was under discussion. âThereâs a powerful lot to be done, even if Mr. Dare gets here to-night,â commented Superintendent Perry. âHow does it look to you, Bud?â asked President Elder, turning to the boy--they were all standing by the buggy. Bud said nothing. âThatâs what I think, too,â spoke up the superintendent. âIâve been over to the shed twice this afternoon. Mr. Pennington may be a fine bank clerk--and I guess heâs all right at that--but he donât strike me as no aeroplaner. Iâm afeared weâve bit off moreân we can chew in this deal.â âIs he going to be able to finish the job?â asked Mr. Elder, turning to Bud again. âPerhaps. If he works all night.â âAll night?â exclaimed Superintendent Perry. âThem mechanicsâll not stick all night. Theyâre gettinâ ready to quit now.â Mr. Elder sighed. âWell, let him go ahead until the eight oâclock train gets here. If the expert ainât on it, I guess weâll call it off. We made a big mistake not hirinâ that Roman Hippodrome and Wild West Congress, but itâs too late now.â Bud rode to town with Mr. Elder, after watching his horse for an hour, and went sorrowfully home. But he was by no means as despondent as the Fair Association President. His brain had been working all afternoon. When the eight oâclock train came in without the eagerly longed for Mr. Dare, Bud was at Mr. Elderâs elbow. The president was boiling mad. âI see he didnât come yit,â ventured the all-observing âbus driver, Dougâ Jackson. âEf he gits here on the one oâclock, I reckon Iâd better call you up and let ye know?â This willingness to oblige was leading up to another appeal for a pass, but Dougâ got a cold reception. âNeednât bother,â responded Mr. Elder curtly. âIâm done with these easterners and Mr. Dare.â He was hurrying to his buggy when Bud touched him on the arm. âMr. Elder,â said the boy, in a businesslike tone, âIâm pretty young to make any suggestions to you, but I can help you out of your trouble. Iâm sure of it.â The angry fair official paused. âLafe Pennington is doing what heâs always done--when it comes to this airship business--â âFour flushinâ,â interrupted Mr. Elder. âI know that.â âI wouldnât put it that way,â added Bud, âbut heâs doinâ what Mr. Perry says--heâs bit off moreân he can chew.â âWell, what then? It donât matter much. Our flyinâ man ainât here, and donât look as if heâd be here.â âI can chew it.â Mr. Elder shrugged his shoulders. âFrom what I hear, you and Lafe are always knockinâ each other,â he commented. âThatâs right. Iâve got a reason, and he hasnât. I can deliver the goods, and he canât. Thatâs all.â âWhat are you tryinâ to git at?â âPut me in charge of that work out there, and by noon to-morrow, Iâll have that aeroplane ready to fly.â âAlone?â said the man, after a momentâs thought and turning on the boy suddenly. âBy noon, if I have carpenters to do what I need, and earlier if Lafe will help.â âWould you work with Mr. Pennington?â âCertainly. Heâs all right if he has some one with him who knows. I know--Iâve figured this all out.â The puzzled official was plainly in a quandary. Then he shook his head. âWhat if you did? Whatâs the use of all this fussinâ and rushinâ around? This feller to run it ainât here, and we canât count on him now.â âIâll do it.â Mr. Elderâs mouth opened. âYou mean go up in the machine?â âYes.â âAnd risk breakinâ your neck?â âHundreds are doing that every day. Hasnât been but two men broken their necks yet.â âYouâre foolish.â âMay be. But Iâll do it if youâll give me the chance.â The suggestion was too daring for President Elder to pass on at once and alone. He lit a cigar, looked at his watch, examined Bud in the glare of the depot light, and then went into the station and telephoned to some one. When he came out, he motioned the boy to follow him, unhitched his horse and told Bud to jump into the buggy. Before he spoke they were on their way to the fair-grounds once more. âWhat makes you think you can do this? I thought you had to be an expert?â âExperts always have to have a first experience. There isnât any half bites. Itâs whole hog or none,â answered Bud. âYou had a half bite when you tumbled in the gravel pit,â laughed his companion. âNo, sir,â answered the boy. âThat was riskier than this. I took more chances when I jumped off the hill than Iâll be takinâ here.â âYouâll have to git your fatherâs consent,â suggested the president as that thought struck the cautious banker. âIf we try it, we canât afford to be sued for damages.â âI havenât any father.â âWell, your guardianâs--I forgot. Youâll have to sign an agreement waiving all claims.â âIâll do that, and Iâll do more. This expert was to get fifty dollars a day. Iâll work for nothing.â âWhy?â Bud was silent a little spell. Then he answered. âBecause every one says Iâm a tough kid just because I âditchedâ school a few times. Iâve never had a chance. I couldnât even get work except in a gravel pit. Iâm anxious to âmake goodâ in this town.â The road to the fair-ground was now pretty well deserted. Inside the exhibition enclosure, the white tents and the little fires glowing here and there under the trees gave the place the appearance of a hunterâs camp in the woods. Hastening forward in the dark, Mr. Elder drove at once into the center of the race track. To his and to Budâs surprise, there was no glare of light from the airship shed. They had expected to find the place the center of activity. âI reckon Mr. Penningtonâs gone to supper,â suggested Bud. âMaybe heâs given up,â said the president. âYouâre both wrong,â exclaimed a voice out of the blackness. âIâve just been over trying to get you or Superintendent Perry on the âphone,â went on the unseen speaker, who was easily recognized as Pennington. âI can finish the job all right, but to be dead sure, I guess I ought to have some help.â A few minutes later, they were at the shed, and Lafe and the watchman lit the lanterns. âThatâs what we concluded,â said Mr. Elder in a decisive tone. âAnd Iâve brought Bud back. I guess you fellows had better work together.â âThatâs all right,â replied Lafe. âI was going to suggest Bud.â The latter was already at work; his hat was off, his shirt was off and his undershirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. He was heating and lighting the gasoline torches. âOh, itâs all right now, Mr. Elder. Weâll get along fine together, and you can go home and rest in peace. Weâll deliver the machine on time,â began Bud enthusiastically. âYou wonât disappoint the people.â âDid Mr. Dare come?â asked Lafe, already greatly relieved in getting out of his mess so easily. Mr. Elder shook his head. âNo. And I ainât countinâ on him now. Looks like we wonât need him.â âHowâs that?â asked Lafe, puzzled. âIf it comes to the worst, Bud says he can fly the thing.â âBud?â âWhy not? Iâm sort oâ persuaded he can. Iâm goinâ to see the directors about it to-night. Heâs willing to try.â Lafeâs face turned red and white with anger and surprise. He stammered and trembled. âI think thatâs a pretty raw deal, Mr. Elder, after what Iâve done. If any one gets that chance, I think I ought.â âDid you want to go up in it?â âOf course. I had no other idea, if the operator didnât come. I was going to ask as soon as it was certain he couldnât get here. I think Iâve had a pretty hard turn down.â He was lying, and his indignation was largely assumed. But his jealousy of Bud made him desperate. Mr. Elder was puzzled. He looked from one lad to the other. âHow about it, Bud?â he asked at last. âLooks as if you were sort of second fiddle, donât it?â Bud hesitated, wiped his hands on a bit of waste and then smiled. âYou didnât say I could do it,â he answered at last, âthough Iâm ready to try. If youâd rather have Lafe, all right. Iâll help get her ready just the same. Donât let me make any trouble.â The fair official looked relieved. From a dearth of aviators, he now had an over supply of them. âMaybe Judge Pennington wonât consent to your reskinâ your neck, Lafe,â he commented. âIâm of age,â answered Lafe, âand can do what I like.â âAnd you think you can work it?â There was a plain sneer on Lafeâs face. âI guess I know as much about it as any one around here, even if I havenât fallen out of one.â âMaybe your fallâs cominâ,â interrupted Bud, with a broad grin. âWell, settle it between you. Weâll count on one of you. Iâll go to town and tell the other directors.â âGive it to him--give Lafe the chance if he wants it,â volunteered Bud suddenly and significantly. âYou give up quick enough, I notice,â exclaimed Lafe somewhat nervously. âI reckon you ainât afraid, are you?â âNot so you can notice it,â retorted Bud. âThen weâll count on you, Lafe,â concluded President Elder. âMuch obliged,â was Lafeâs answer, but it lacked a good deal of being enthusiastic. As soon as Mr. Elderâs buggy disappeared in the darkness, Lafe wheeled toward Bud. âYou did that on purpose, Bud Wilson, just to get me in a box.â âYou jump out, and let me in,â was Budâs sober rejoinder. CHAPTER IV A MIDNIGHT LUNCH. âWhen you see me doing that, just tell me,â retorted Lafe, with another sneer. âAll right,â answered Bud, âI will.â Surrounded by a wilderness of odds and ends, the youthful rivals stood and faced each other. Finally, Bud reached out his hand. âWhatâs the use of scrappinâ Lafe? I guess we donât like each other any too well, but we ought not let our grouch interfere with our chance.â âWhat chance have you?â asked the bank clerk. âJust a chance to get my hands on a real aeroplane. And thatâs all I want. But I wonât have that if we donât stop quarrelinâ and get to work.â âLooks to me as if you thought Iâd back out.â âThatâs up to you,â went on Bud. âI didnât say so.â âAre you willing to take orders and do as I say?â âSure,â answered Bud. âAll I want is to see the thing fly. And, since you are the aviator, I say âGood luck to you.ââ Lafe had ignored the proffered hand, but he now relented a little. âI want to be fair,â he said half-heartedly, âand Iâll meet you half way. But I donât intend to work all night to give you a chance to show off to-morrow.â âNever fear,â answered Bud. âI had hopes for a minute, but they were like all my other chances.â And he whistled. âYouâre it and Iâm nit. Come on, letâs forget our troubles.â As he smiled and held out his hand again, Lafe had not the heart to refuse it. âNow,â went on Bud enthusiastically as the two lads limply clasped hands, âweâre on the job. Whatâs doinâ?â Within a few minutes, the rivalry was forgotten, at least temporarily. The only headway made so far was in the mounting or setting up of a few sections of the frame. More than half of the work was yet to be done; the front and rear rudders were to be attached and levers adjusted; the vulcanized silk covering of the two planes had to be put in place and stretched; the landing skids bolted on; the engine, gasoline tank, and water cooler put in place and tested; the batteries wired; the propellers and shafts located; the chain gears and guards attached, and, possibly most important, the starting rail and weight derrick constructed. And it was then nine oâclock. âLetâs get started right,â suggested Bud, ânow that you have everything unpacked. Before we go any further letâs see where we stand.â As a result of a nearly thirty-minute conference, these were the conclusions: A mechanic must be found at once, if possible, to adjust the engine, oil it and get it running; a carpenter must also be secured to start to work by midnight on the starting track; these things arranged for, the two amateurs agreed that, together, they could have the aeroplane itself so far set up by daylight as to give assurance to the fair directors that the dayâs program could be carried out. âAnd then,â suggested Lafe, âI suppose T. Glenn Dare will sail in on the noon train and steal our thunder.â âHe canât steal mine,â laughed Bud. âIâll have been through this thing by that time from top to bottom. Thatâs all I want--that, I can get,â he added with another laugh. The first stumbling block was the launching device. This essential part of any aeroplane flight is usually a single wooden rail about eight inches high, faced with strap iron. As it is necessary with most modern aeroplanes to make a run before sufficient sustention is secured to force the machine into the air, it is evident that this starting impulse must be secured through an outside force. The specifications forwarded with the airship purchased by the fair authorities, called for the long wooden rail. On this the aeroplane was to be balanced on a small two-wheeled truck. At the rear end of the rail, the plans called for a small derrick, pyramidal in form, constructed of four timbers each twenty-five feet long and two inches square braced by horizontal frames and wire stays. At the top and at the bottom of this, were two, pulley blocks with a rope passing around the sheaves a sufficient number of times to provide a three-to-one relation between a 1500-pound weight suspended from the top pulley and the movement of the aeroplane on the track. The rope, which passes around the pulley at the bottom of the derrick, is carried forward to and around a pulley at the front end of the rail, and thence back to the aeroplane, to which it is attached with a right-angled hook. When everything is ready for an ascension and the operator is in place, the propellers are set to work. When they have reached their maximum revolution and the car begins to feel their propelling force, the weight, usually several bags of sand, is released, the tightened rope shoots through the pulleys and the balanced aeroplane springs forward on its car. By the time it has traveled seventy-five or one hundred feet, the impulse of the falling weight and the lift of the propellers sends it soaring. Thereupon, the hook drops off and the free airship begins its flight. âWe have the plans for the derrick and the track, the pulley blocks, rope and hook,â declared Bud at once. âBut we havenât the little car.â âCouldnât we make one?â ventured Lafe. âCertainly, but hardly in the time we have.â âIâve heard of aeroplanes ascending by skidding along over the grass,â suggested the bank clerk. âBut they werenât in the hands of amateurs. Weâd better stick to the rail. Iâve been thinking over this--down there in the freight-house.â âDid you know the track car wasnât here?â âWell, I didnât see it. Here is the idea. The aeroplane has two light, smooth landing runners or skids. Lumber is cheap. Instead of a track for the wheels we havenât got, weâll make two grooves just as long as the proposed track. Weâll stake these out on the ground and set the landing runners in them after weâve greased the grooves with tallow. The weight, rope and hook will work exactly as if we had a single track--ân possibly better. Anything the matter with that suggestion?â Lafe was skeptical a few moments while Bud made a sketch of the new device. Then he conceded that he could see no reason why it wouldnât work. âAll right,â exclaimed Bud, in a businesslike way, ânow, you go ahead, and Iâm off for town for the timber and the men we need. You canât do much single handed, of course, but do what you can. Iâll be back before midnight. Then weâll get down to business.â The boy had no vehicle to carry him the two miles to Scottsville, so he walked. The night was dark, and almost starless, and the pike or road was soft with heavy dust; but, with his coat on his arm, Bud struck out with the stride of a Weston. Covered with dust and perspiration, in about half an hour, he reached the edge of the town. Entering the first open place he found, a sort of neighborhood grocery, he called up Mr. Elder by telephone. It required some minutes to fully explain the situation, but finally he convinced the fair official that the things he suggested were absolutely necessary and must be done at once. As a result, by the time Bud reached the town public square, Mr. Elder was waiting for him in the office of the hotel. The usual âfair weekâ theatrical entertainment was in progress in the town âopera-house,â fakers were orating beneath their street torches, and the square was alive with Scottsville citizens and those already arrived for the fair. It was not difficult for President Elder to start things moving. Within a half hour he had found, and for extra pay, arranged for two carpenters and an engineer to report at the fair-grounds at once. The securing of the lumber was not so easy and called for some persistent telephoning. Finally an employe of the âHoosier Sash, Door and Blind Co.â was found, and he in turn secured a teamster. At ten-thirty oâclock, Bud was in the lumber yard selecting the needed material with the aid of a smoky lantern, and before eleven oâclock the one-horse wagon was on its way to the fair-grounds. The two carpenters reached the airship shed about
{'title': 'The Stolen Aeroplane; or, How Bud Wilson Made Good by H. L. Sayler', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}