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Dave Dashaway, the Young Aviator

<h2 id='chapXVI' class='c001'>CHAPTER XVI</h2> <div class='nf-center-c0'> <div class='nf-center c004'> <div>THE YOUNG AVIATOR</div> </div></div> “There he is, Dave,” said Hiram Dobbs. “Yes, that is Jerry Dawson, sure enough.” “You see he is here.” “I knew before this that he was,” replied Dave. “Mr. King told me this morning that young Dawson and his father were both working for an airman named Russell.” “Well, Dave,” said Hiram in quite a serious tone, “I want you to look out for that fellow.” “Why? I never did him any harm.” “Because I’m around a good deal, and I hear a lot of things you don’t. That Jerry Dawson is a selfish, vicious boy. His father, they say, is almost as bad, and the man they are working for, Russell, has been barred from some meets on account of winning an altitude race by a trick.” “I’ve heard of Russell, too,” responded Dave. “He’s no friend of Mr. King, and that’s enough for me. As to Jerry, though, I have no business with him, and don’t intend to have if I can help it.” “He’ll cross your path in some mean way, you mark my words,” said Hiram warningly. “He’s got an idea that he owes Mr. King a grudge, and he’s crazy to pay it off. Down by the south pylons early this morning, I saw him talking to two of the roughest looking fellows I ever met. You was at your practice, and Jerry pointed you out to the men, and was whispering to them—something about you, I’ll bet.” “I’ll keep an eye out for him, but I’m not a bit scared,” said Dave. Hiram spoke of pylons just now as if he had known what they meant all his life. It was nearly a week after his first meeting with Dave, and a vast improvement was visible in the manner, position and finances of the humble but ambitious farm lad. Hiram had gone to work with a vengeance. Mr. King had told him that there were many steps to the ladder leading to fame and fortune in the aviation field, and Hiram had taken this literally. “Why, I’m willing to scrub floors, work as candy butcher, tar ropes, wash dishes, peddle programmes, anything honest to reach that first rung,” he had told Dave back at Fairfield. “I’ll make good every step I take, no matter how slow or hard it is, I’m going to become an aviator, like yourself, Dave.” “Me an aviator?” smiled Dave. “You flatter me, Hiram.” “Do I?” retorted Hiram. “Well, then, so does Mr. King. And your teacher, old Grimshaw. He says he never saw a person take to the business like you do. Mr. King was bragging about you, too, down at the office yesterday. He actually talked about entering you in one of the races next week.” Dave flushed with pleasure. He was too sensible to imagine himself a full-fledged aviator, or anything like it. At the same time, he could not deny that he had learned a great many new things within the past ten days. He did not look much like the tired, dusty and threadbare boy who had left Brompton hungry, barefooted and practically penniless. The one hundred feet descent from the Aegis in the old inventor’s parachute garment had been a complete success. It had put Dave in funds, too, for Mr. Dixon had given him a ten dollar bill for his services. “I don’t pretend to be much more than a rediscoverer as to my parachute device,” Dixon acknowledged. “It’s up to date, and it does what I claim for it, though. Tell you, Dashaway, I’ll be over to the Dayton meet, and I’ll add a five dollar bill to every one hundred feet you drop with my apparatus.” “It really does work, doesn’t it, Mr. King?” Dave asked of the aviator a little later. “Oh, yes,” replied the airman, somewhat indifferently. “It won’t sell much, though, outside of amateurs.” “Why not?” “A professional won’t admit any lack of skill or pluck, any more than a crack swimmer would use a life preserver. Another thing, a crack operator can’t be hampered with a suit tied around his ankles. Still another thing, when the moment arrives for an airman to desert the ship, things are so desperate he hasn’t much chance of jumping clear of the machine.” Dave had also received some money from the motion picture manager. Then Mr. King handed him what was due him of a modest salary for the broken week. Saturday afternoon Mr. King had arranged to ship his traps to Dayton, all except the monoplane, in which he and his young assistant made the trip. Dave found his friend, Hiram, on the new grounds. The country boy was in high spirits. He had worked tirelessly while at Fairfield. When there were no visitors to the grounds, he went into the town. He sold out a lot of leftover souvenirs, and that Saturday afternoon boasted gleefully of being for the first time in his life the possessor of ten dollars. “All my own,” he announced, “and I’m going to tidy up a bit. Come and help me pick out a cheap suit, Dave.” “Yes, and I need a complete outfit myself,” explained Dave. “I tell you, Hiram, this is a great day for two poor fellows who hadn’t a quarter between them a week ago.” “And see what we are learning,” added Hiram. “If ever airshipping gets to be the go for traveling about, we’ll be in right on the jump, won’t we?” Mr. King was pleased to see the improved appearance of his young apprentice in a neat sensible suit of clothes. He had taken a decided liking to Dave, who was quick, reliable and accommodating. Dave felt like a bird given its freedom after a long and irksome captivity. His head was full of aviation all of the time, however, and the various airmen he got acquainted with were all willing and glad to answer his questions about this and that detail of the different make machines. Monday morning, Mr. King had taken Dave down to a roped-off section of the aviation field. It held a tent covering an old type airplane, and also housing a queer old fellow with one arm, whom the airman introduced to Dave as Mr. Grimshaw. “Here’s the young fellow I was telling you about,” said Mr. King. “You’ll find him a likely pupil.” “I’ll soon know it, if that’s so,” responded the gruff, grim old fellow. “Put him right through the regular course of sprouts, eh?” “That’s what I want. It’s what he wants, too. Make it special, Grimshaw. I’ve great hopes of him, and don’t want him worked in a crowd.” Dave understood that his kind employer was spending some money for his instruction. He felt duly grateful. He entered into his work with vim and ardor, determined to make rapid progress, to show Mr. King how he appreciated his friendly interest in him. For three days Dave was with Grimshaw from ten to twelve o’clock in the morning and two to four in the afternoon. The rest of the time he was helping about the little building, where Mr. King made his headquarters. His employer was preparing to enter for the first day’s altitude prize. There was practicing to do, and the Aegis needed constant attention. Dave now knew how to oil it, keep the tanks full and clean up the monoplane. Dave had heard that his gruff old tutor, Grimshaw, had been quite a balloonist in his time. A fall from an airship had crippled him. He was useful in his line, however, kept pace with all the new wrinkles in aviation, and ran a kind of school for amateurs. From the first step in learning how to run the airplane, to the point when with a wild cheer Dave felt himself safe in making a brief flight all by himself, our hero’s progress was one of unceasing interest and delight. The first step was to learn how to glide. Dave aboard the glider, Grimshaw and an assistant helped get the airplane under way. They carried the weight of the machine and overcame its head resistance by running forward at its own rate of speed. Over the course Dave ran and repeated. As the glider cut into the air, the wind caused by the running caught under the uplifted edge of the curved planes, buoying up the machine and causing it to rise. At first Dave lifted only a foot or two clear of the ground. Then he projected his feet slightly forward, so as to shift the center of gravity a trifle and bring the edges of the glider on an exact level parallel with the ground. “You see,” old Grimshaw would say, “you scoop up the advancing air and rise upon it. Keep the planes steady, for if they tilt the air is spilled.” Dave soon learned the rudiments. He knew that in his first experiment he must watch out that the rear end of the skids or the tail did not scrape over the turf or slap the ground hard and break off. He kept the machine always under control, so it would not get tail heavy. He guarded against wing deflection, and the second day felt proud as a king when his tutor relented from his usual grimness, and told him quite emphatically that he would “do.” “Never stubbed the toe of the machine, and that’s pretty fine for a beginner,” commented the veteran airman. It was not until Dave had a chance at a real biplane that he felt that he had gained a glorious promotion. He spent hours looking over a technical book Mr. King had loaned him. He hung around old Grimshaw every spare moment he could find. It was the afternoon on his third day’s tuition when Dave started his first real flight. He had learned the perfect use of the rudder from running the airplane up and down the ground. Dave knew the danger of leaving the course unexpectedly in his frequent practice runs. He knew how to gauge a rush of air against the face, how to use the elevator as a brake to keep from pitching forward. Dave had mastered a heap of important details, and felt strong confidence in himself. Dave rose a few feet from the ground with the motor wide open. He moved the rudder very gingerly. The switch was of the knife variety, and the throttle and advance spark were in the form of pedals working against springs. “Ready,” called out Grimshaw, in his strange forbidding voice. “Ready I am,” warbled Dave, keen for the contest of his skill. “Then let her go.” The biplane took a superb shoot into the air. Dave was not afraid of forgetting how to run the machine straight ahead. He had watched Mr. King at the level too often for that. He got fairly aloft, tried coasting, veered, struck a new level, and worked the ailerons to decrease any tendency for tipping. On his second turn Dave had to use the emergency brake, the stout bar of steel on the skid near the rear end. He banked on a spirited whirl, got his level, circled the course twice, and came back to the ground flushed with excitement and delight, without so much as a wrinkle put in the staunch aircraft. It was on this account that Dave felt proud and then modest, as his staunch friend, Hiram, referred to him as an aviator. He had entire confidence now in his ability to manage an airship alone. Dave had some pretty ambitious dreams as he went on his way. Great preparations were being made for the meet, which was to open the next morning. Dave kept busy about the Aegis quarters. Just at dusk Mr. King sent him to the town near by to order some supplies from a hardware store. Dave attended to his commissions and started back for the grounds an hour later. Just as he passed through the crowd about the main entrance to the aviation field our hero turned as he heard a voice say quickly and in a meaning way: “There he is!” “Yes, it’s the Dashaway fellow,” was responded. Dave made out two forms skulking into the shadow of the office building. Then some passersby shut them out from view. “Hello,” said Dave to himself, “that sounds and looks suspicious.” <div class='pbb'></div> <hr class='pb c000' /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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