CHAPTER XVIII
THE FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR PRIZE
“The Dart is a beauty! I’d like to meet that ingenious father of yours, Ben!”
“He would feel honored to know you, I am sure, Mr. Davis.”
“Just as soon as this meet is over, I am going to get him to build me a new airship modeled after the Dart. It’s the best machine I have yet seen.”
“You will have to deal with the Diebold people, then, Mr. Davis,” advised Ben. “They have gone into the airship business, and father is superintendent of that department of their plant.”
“Well, I’ll have to be contented with his supervision,” observed the old aviator. “I would a good deal rather pay him for special individual service.”
“That would be pretty difficult for the present. My father is putting in all his spare time at home on what he calls an Airatorium.”
“And what is that, Ben?” inquired Mr. Davis with interest.
“A safe, substantial airship for sick people—a sort of an aerial hospital. His idea is to construct a machine that will take invalids up into perfect sunshine, pure air and exhilarating calmness.”
“I see—a grand idea.”
“Father says that light at high elevations is richer in ultra violet rays.”
“Say, you’re some scientist, aren’t you?” put in Bob Dallow.
“I’ll give you some more,” laughed Ben: “You get out of the bacterial effect in the upper air currents.”
“Well, I’ll have a talk with Mr. Hardy after we’ve won the high flight and long distance prizes,” observed Mr. Davis.
“Oh, you are going to win both of them, are you?” chuckled Bob.
“I said ‘we,’” corrected Mr. Davis, with a quick glance at Ben. “I have made my record on the elevation feature. What do you say, Ben, to taking my place and seeing what the Dart can do?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Ben, “you don’t mean it?”
“I do, and you shall,” replied the old aviator promptly. “It’s your heart’s desire—eh? And you would like to get that five hundred dollar prize to help your father carry on his suit against Saxton.”
“I say, Bob,” cried Ben quickly, “you have been telling secrets out of school.”
“I am glad he did, for I am interested in both you and your father,” spoke up the aviator. “Your ambition is most laudable. I have entered the Dart for the race to-morrow, and I fully expect you will get ready for it.”
Ben was once more at the aviation field at Blairville and the Dart was with him. That splendid little machine had arrived from Woodville the day previous.
Two weeks had been devoted to its completion, and a perfect monoplane was the result. It had many new features that evoked the interest and admiration of some of the leading aviators at the meet.
Mr. Hardy and Caleb Dunn had accepted excellent positions at Martinville. Tom Shallock had carried out his boasts. He was now head machinist at the Saxton Automobile Works. A week after he had taken charge three men left the Saxton employ, and Ben heard incidentally that Shallock had become generally disliked by his fellow employees and was under the influence of liquor most of the time.
It was said that Saxton nearly had a fit when he found out how his evil plots had been circumvented by the Hardys in securing the airship patents first. Saxton troubled them no further. The report that Mr. Hardy had been guilty of stealing found few believers. One day Ben met the big manufacturer skulking down the street, as if he feared every minute being served with the papers by lawyer Pearsons.
When Ben made his second visit to the aviation field, he found Dick Farrell still in the employ of Rollins. Ben always spoke pleasantly to Dick, but the latter greeted this courtesy with a sullen nod only. There was a vindictive look in Farrell’s eye that Ben distrusted fully.
Several times Ben went into Blairville and finally located the home of Knippel. This man lived in a retired cottage, had a small family who associated with no one in the village, and he was considered to follow some mysterious business that took him away from home most of the time.
Now Ben’s thoughts were so completely on aviation and all of its alluring features, that he forgot all his past trouble and present complications.
That day he had made several trial flights. He had the advantage of the experience and direction of Mr. Davis and Bob. He understood the Dart perfectly. Ben could hardly sleep for excitement that night, and he and Bob were among the earliest arrivals on the aviation field next morning.
The day was warm and still, but there were lowering clouds. After a critical decision as to weather conditions, Mr. Davis told Ben that the same were not very favorable for either a high or a rapid flight. Eight biplanes and four monoplanes were to take part in the test. Ben chose his own course away from the others. Bob, after urging up the Dart, uttered an enthusiastic hurrah as he noted the splendid start his friend had made.
The Dart was soon out of sight, the heavy layer of surface clouds obscuring its progress. Ben started in on a spiral flight. As he struck a second strata of clouds, he encountered some strong cross currents of air.
“It’s getting choppy,” ruminated the young aviator, and he arranged so he could lower the front control of the machine readily in case of a sudden gust.
It began to get chilly and uncomfortable as he struck a higher altitude. His leather suit was none too warm for him and splatters of moisture clouded the goggles he wore.
Ben bent himself to his work like a trained pilot. There were places where great banks of cloud enveloped him. He drove the monoplane through these like a torpedo boat thrusting its way through an opposing wave.
“Brr-rr!” he shivered, as an icy gale made the planes bend and rattle, and he felt himself becoming benumbed by the cold.
The highly rarefied air began now to affect heart and brain. Only by conserving his breath could Ben refrain from gasping outright.
“What is that?” he exclaimed, as a grinding, wrenching motion shook the machine.
It was an accumulation of ice on the planes of the airship. Icicles fell into the machinery, threatening to stop the motor.
“I’ve reached the limit, I guess,” decided Ben, dizzy-headed and half frozen.
A storm of hail cut against him as he made a full one mile glide. Then strata after strata of clouds were penetrated. A blurred landscape and dim outlines of houses and trees gradually came into view. When Ben alighted, both he and the aeroplane were coated with ice.
He had to be helped from the machine, but, benumbed as he was with the cold, he was conscious of ringing cheers all about the aviation field.
Mr. Davis carried the barograph from the machine to the judges’ stand. Bob and some others led and carried Ben to the quarters of the Flyer.
Ben found it supreme luxury to repose on a couch. His lungs pained him, and he was so exhausted he dropped into profound sleep at once.
His next conscious moment was a recognition of the voice of Mr. Davis, saying:
“Let him sleep, he needs it.”
“But—such glorious news!” cried the tones of Bob Dallow.
“I am awake,” declared Ben, opening his eyes and sitting up. “What’s the glorious news?”
“Why,” said Mr. Davis with a beaming face, “the barograph says you have beaten the Flyer altitude record by three hundred feet. Hardy, you have won the five hundred dollar prize.”