<h2 id='chap02'>CHAPTER II</h2>
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<div>THE TRAMP ARTIST</div>
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<p class='c011'>“Somebody is trying to blow us up again!”
shouted Hiram, in a great state of excitement.</p>
<p>That word “again” meant just what the young
airman apprentice intended that it should. As we
have already said, the two chums were no novices
in the strange line of business activity they had
taken up to earn a living. They had not only shared
triumphs and gains, but many a peril besides.
There had instantly come to Hiram’s mind, and to
that of Dave Dashaway as well, on the present occasion
a memory of past deeds of jealousy, hatred
and cunning on the part of unprincipled rivals,
where fire and powder were used in destructive and
dangerous work.</p>
<p>There had been no lights in the hangar since the
night before, its only occupant that the boys knew
of was the tramp-artist they had accommodated.
As both noticed a little puff of smoke shoot out
through a ventilating pipe in the roof of the structure,
they were sure that something had blown up,
or had been blown up.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='9' id='Page_9'></span>Hiram and Dave were greatly anxious. Inside
that hangar were two machines valued as an expert
horseman would cherish his pet steeds, or a
crack motorist his favorite automobile. Particularly
was Dave’s latest acquisition, the <i>Ariel</i>, to
which Hiram had referred so proudly, a possession
that the young birdman treasured. The active fear
that this might have sustained some damage spurred
him to hasten on and see what had happened.</p>
<p>It was by no easy or accidental route that Dave
Dashaway had reached his present position as an
aviator. It had been no path of roses for him. In
the first book of this series, entitled “Dave Dashaway,
The Young Aviator,” his struggles and initial
triumphs have been depicted. He found a good
friend in one Robert King, a man of some means,
and by hard study and practice Dave won his laurels
as a professional.</p>
<p>In the second volume, called “Dave Dashaway
And His Hydroplane,” the further progress of the
ambitious young airman is recited. His father had
been a scientist and balloonist. The cooperation of
one of his old associates proved a wonderful aid to
Dave, and he went through some stirring experiences
both up in the air and on the water.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='10' id='Page_10'></span>“Dave Dashaway And His Giant Airship,” was
the medium for telling of Dave’s breaking of many
aviation records. In that book the flight of the dirigible
<i>Albatross</i>, involved a fascinating series of
discoveries and adventures. The last preceding
book of the series, “Dave Dashaway Around The
World,” describes a daring race for a rich prize,
which Dave, with the willing aid of his young
friends, won, honorably defeating all competitors.</p>
<p>Hiram Dobbs, a young aero enthusiast, Dave had
picked up accidentally. It proved to be a lucky
“find.” Crude, impetuous though he might be,
Hiram was not only a loyal friend, but developed
great efficiency as a sort of understudy of the chum
and employer whom he looked up to as the ideal
champion of the aviation world.</p>
<p>As the young airman had put it, he and his good-natured
and well-intentioned assistant were now
“taking a rest.” They had come to Midlothian, a
practice field of a Mississippi river city, to be near
several points where exhibition aviation features
were in progress. Mr. Brackett had been the
mainstay, financially, of Dave all through his professional
career. It was true that the young aviator
had essentially won his own way and had helped
to make famous the output of the Interstate Aero
Company, of which Mr. Brackett was practically
the owner. Still, Dave felt that all he had gained
had been through the encouragement and assistance
<span class="pagenum" title='11' id='Page_11'></span>of the manufacturer. As a matter of fact, Dave
deferred greatly to the opinion and direction of this
valuable friend. He had been expecting his arrival
daily at the Midlothian grounds, to talk over the
situation and prospects for future work.</p>
<p>“Whew!” ejaculated Hiram, as he pulled open
the door of the hangar, and rushed in. “Fire!”</p>
<p>“No, only smoke,” corrected Dave—“and not
much of that, lucky for us!”</p>
<p>“I say!” cried his companion in an exasperated
tone as he went spinning off his feet. Contact with
an indistinct, wildly-rushing human form had
caused this. There had been a smoky haze inside the
hangar that had hid the aroused sleeper from clear
view. Now, however, the tramp was plainly visible.
He looked startled and scared and he was nursing
the fingers of his left hand in the palm of the other.</p>
<p>“What’s happened—are you hurt?” inquired
Dave.</p>
<p>“Whew! Well—why, oh, it’s only a little burn,
but—catch the rascal!”</p>
<p>As the speaker finished the rapidly shouted sentence
he dashed towards the fence. Upon this the
rear of the hangar backed. The tramp was quick,
and as nimble as a monkey as he ran at the fourteen-foot
barrier. One of its slanting supports carried
him within reach of the bracing stringer. He lifted
himself to this. From the ground the aeroplane
<span class="pagenum" title='12' id='Page_12'></span>boys could see him bobbing his head about among
the barbed wire runners, strung along on top of the
fence, as if to catch a view of a vacant field beyond.</p>
<p>The tramp yelled out some disjointed words, and
shook his fist angrily, as if after a scurrying fugitive.
Then he slid down to the ground and faced
Dave and Hiram, panting and excited.</p>
<p>“He made off—he got away!” the tramp ejaculated.
“Too bad! I’m so big I couldn’t get
through that window.”</p>
<p>“What window?” inquired Hiram.</p>
<p>“Cut in the fence that makes the rear of the
hangar,” was explained. “Come in. Let me show
you.”</p>
<p>Dave cast a hurried glance about the interior of
the hangar as he entered it. Except that the little
door which protected the rear window opening was
out of place, everything seemed in order. Their
tramp friend, however, had stooped over near the
<i>Ariel</i>.</p>
<p>“Look here,” he said, and the boys, crowding
nearer to him, noticed that he held in his hand the
crisped, blackened end of what resembled a fuse.</p>
<p>“Where does it lead to?” asked the startled
Hiram.</p>
<p>Very gingerly the tramp ran eye and hand along
the sinister-looking fuse. He seemed to locate its
end as he reached under a corner of the airplane.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='13' id='Page_13'></span>“Better get it outside,” he suggested, and the
boys saw that he had unearthed a round box-like
object resembling a dry electric battery. The fuse
ran to its center. The tramp carried it outside, set
it down in the grass at a safe distance from the
hangar, and observed:</p>
<p>“Better soak it in a pail of water before you
handle it much. Those things are dangerous; very
much so! If I don’t mistake, you’ll find it’s dynamite.”</p>
<p>“Then some one’s up to a mean trick again!”
cried the excitable Hiram, unable to repress himself.
“Dave, you’re not going to stand this; are
you?”</p>
<p>“Why, Hiram,” responded Dave quietly, “we
don’t yet know our bearings. Maybe it’s a joke——”</p>
<p>“Joke! Joke!” fairly yelled Hiram. “Yes, the
same kind of a joke as that fellow Vernon played
on us when he stole the <i>Comet</i> at the Washington
aero meet. Or like that partner of his, who dropped
a steel hook on the biplane purposely to wreck us.”</p>
<p>Hiram had named the enemy the boys, according
to past experience, had most to fear. Dave, however,
was not wont to jump at hasty conclusions.
He did not do so in the present instance. He put
aside unproven suspicion for the time being.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='14' id='Page_14'></span>“We had better make an investigation, and find
out all we can,” Dave suggested. “You said your
name was Borden, I believe?” he observed to the
tramp.</p>
<p>“That’s it—Roving Borden, they call me. I was
Henry, in my respectable days.”</p>
<p>“Very good, Mr. Borden, now please tell us what
you know of this affair,” Dave requested.</p>
<p>“I’m a pretty sound sleeper,” narrated the tramp,
“especially in such a famous bunk as you kindly
gave me. I’d slept so long, though, that I fancy I
was more easily awakened than usual. What I saw
was done quickly. Some one must have forced in
that shutter yonder. He had just put that thing we
discovered under the edge of the balloon. The end
of the fuse was spluttering as I woke up. I saw the
fellow bolt through the window. Then I sprang up
and grabbed the fuse. As I snapped it in two, it
sort of exploded. See where it burned me?” and
the speaker showed his blackened fingers.</p>
<p>“Lucky for us you were on hand!” broke in
Hiram.</p>
<p>“I believe this to be the work of an enemy,”
spoke Dave, rather solemnly, after a moment’s deliberation.
“Did you have a good look at the fellow
you saw go through the window, Mr. Borden?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='15' id='Page_15'></span>“I should say, I did!” exclaimed the tramp.
“When a fellow gets waked up suddenly and
startled, like I was, everything hits his brain as if it
were a photograph camera. Say,” and the speaker
half closed his eyes, “I can see that rascal just as
plain as day now. By the way, too, if I’m not mistaken
I saw the very same individual hanging
around the outside of the grounds when I sneaked
in last night.”</p>
<p>“Dave, I call this serious!” cried Hiram, aroused
and indignant. “It’s a queer thing if we can’t have
protection from the cowards who steal in on us
when we’re not watching, and try to wreck our aircraft!
I’ll wager the stuff in that canister would
blow a small mountain to pieces!”</p>
<p>“Guess I’d have gone up, too, if it was that bad,”
remarked the tramp with a shiver.</p>
<p>Dave went to the window and examined it. The
edges of the solid board shutter showed the marks
of some chisel, or other tool, used to pry it open.
Then the chums went outside. On the way Dave
caught up a bundle of waste used in removing oil
and grime from the machinery of the air crafts, and
a newspaper.</p>
<p>The others watched him in silence as he carefully
wound up what was left of the fuse, and placed it
and the canister, to which it was attached, in the
waste then, wrapping all in the newspaper, he said
to Hiram:</p>
<p>“I’m going down to the manager’s office.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='16' id='Page_16'></span>“Going to find out if that’s a real explosive;
aren’t you?” inquired Hiram.</p>
<p>“Yes, that’s my purpose. If we find that it is,
we can make up our minds that the people we have
had trouble with before are still on our trail. I
fancied we’d beaten them off so many times they
had now gotten sick of such doings.”</p>
<p>“Oh, if it’s Vernon, or any of his crowd, they’re
the kind that will keep on pestering us to the last,”
declared Hiram. “Be back soon, Dave. I’m all
rattled, and anxious.”</p>
<p>The young birdman proceeded on his way.
Hiram turned to the tramp, who had manifested a
decided interest in all that had taken place.</p>
<p>“We didn’t wake you up when we went down to
the restaurant for breakfast,” said Hiram. “You
were sleeping so soundly it seemed a pity to disturb
you.”</p>
<p>“You’re very good, both of you, to think of an
old derelict like me,” was the reply, given with feeling.</p>
<p>“Why, you’ve done us a big turn,” responded
Hiram, “so I guess you’ve squared things. I
brought some eatables up from the café, and if
you’re hungry——”</p>
<p>“Say, friend,” interrupted Borden in a serio-comic
way—“I’m <i>always</i> hungry!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='17' id='Page_17'></span>“Then start with what there is,” directed Hiram,
always glad to make others comfortable, as he
spread the food out upon the bench near by. He
watched their guest devour the viands with a relish
that made him almost wish for a second breakfast
himself. The tramp bolted the last morsel, and
breathed a sigh of genuine content.</p>
<p>“That fills a mighty hollow spot,” he observed.
“Say, about the fellow that tried to blow you up
here—got a piece of chalk?”</p>
<p>“Why, no,” answered Hiram, noting that the
speaker was viewing the smooth side of the hangar
as might an artist a blank canvas. “I suppose you
want to draw something,” guessed Hiram, recalling
the artistic efforts of the evening previous.</p>
<p>“That’s it,” assented Borden. “It might sort of
satisfy your curiosity, and maybe give you a hint, if
I can furnish you with an idea of how that blowing-up
rascal looked.”</p>
<p>“Why, that’s a great idea!” cried Hiram. “Do
it!”</p>
<p>“I want to get at it while the picture of the fellow
is fresh in my mind,” went on Borden. “Here’s
the very thing,” and he picked up the paper that had
held the morning lunch. “If I only had a black
crayon now, instead of my fine pencil——”</p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure there’s a carpenter’s pencil in
our tool box,” suggested Hiram.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='18' id='Page_18'></span>“Good! Get it, and a few brads, or tacks. Just
the thing,” he added, as Hiram, after a search in
the hangar, brought out the articles named.</p>
<p>Borden proceeded to attach the sheet of manilla
paper to the side of the hanger. He smoothed its
surface with his hand, rubbed the broad end of the
big pencil to a point on a brick he discovered, and
rolled up one ragged sleeve with a certain affected,
artistic twirl that set Hiram laughing.</p>
<p>“That’s all right,” nodded the tramp indulgently.
“I don’t look much like a cartoonist, but all the
same I once traveled as a lightning caricaturist.
Heads are my specialty, and here goes for the fellow
who came so near to blowing out the lights for
a budding genius!”</p>
<p>Hiram watched eagerly, from that moment, for
the space of a quarter of an hour. The faces Borden
had quickly and crudely drawn on some cards,
to amuse Dave and himself, and show off his accomplishments,
the evening previous, had awakened
the interest and admiration of the two lads. Now,
however, Borden began to create, line by line, and
curve by curve, as perfect a human face as Hiram
had even seen done by an expert crayon artist.</p>
<p>“That’s him,” announced the artist, with a last
touch of the pencil, and drawing back from the
impromptu easel with a satisfied air.</p>
<p>He viewed his clever handiwork with a critical
but gratified eye.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='19' id='Page_19'></span>“Yes, it’s him,” went on Borden. “Thin,
peaked chin, one wall eye. There you are! Just as
good as if you’d got his picture from the rogues’
gallery—where he belongs, if I don’t miss my
guess.”</p>
<p>“Pshaw!” exclaimed his audience of one, in so
decidedly a disappointed way, that the amateur
artist knit his brows, and looked hurt.</p>
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