CHAPTER VII.
A STOP FOR THE NIGHT.
It was some two hours later that Meadville received the greatest excitement of its career. People rushed out of stores and houses as the "flock" of aëroplanes came into sight.
As they gazed down the young aviators felt a momentary regret that they had chosen a town in which to pass the first night of their motor flight. It appeared that they would get into difficulties when they attempted to make a landing.
But almost simultaneously they spied a public park, which appeared to offer a favorable landing place. As soon as their intention of descending there became manifest, however, the crowd made a headlong rush for the spot.
It was too late to seek some other location to alight even had there been one available. Trusting to luck that the eager spectators would get out of their way the four aëroplanes began their spiraling descent.
Roy was first in his big biplane. As the ponderous, white machine ranged down close to the park the crowd became well-nigh uncontrollable. They swarmed beneath the big machine, despite Roy's shouts of warning.
Skillfully as the boy manipulated the aircraft he could not check its descent once begun.
"Out of the way! I don't want to hurt you!" he shouted, as he dashed down.
But the crowd, sheeplike in their stupidity, refused to budge. Into the midst of them Roy, perforce, was compelled to drive. Once the throng perceived his intention, however, they scattered wildly. That is, all sought positions of safety but one man, a stout, red-faced individual, who appeared dazed or befuddled.
He stood his ground, glaring foolishly at the sky ship. With a quick turn of his wrist Roy swept the big biplane aside, but a wing tip brushed the stout man, toppling him over in a twinkling. By the time Roy had stopped his machine the man was on his feet again, bellowing furiously. He was not hurt, but his face was contorted with anger.
He pushed his way through the crowd toward the young aviator.
"You young scoundrel!" he yelled, "I'll fix you for that! I'll—" "Look out, here come the rest of them!" shouted the crowd at this juncture.
Nobody needed any warning this time. They fled in all directions as one after the other the Golden Butterfly, the Red Dragon and the pretty, graceful Dart dropped to earth.
"Wa'al, look at them gals, will yer!" shouted a voice in the crowd.
"What's the country coming to?" demanded another man. "Gals gallivanting around like gol-dinged birds!"
But the majority of the crowd took the pretty girl aviators to its heart. Somebody set up a cheer.
It was still ringing out when, to the huge relief of the embarrassed girls, the auto came rolling up with Miss Prescott and "The Wren," as they still called the latter.
The girls, leaving the boys to look after the aëroplanes, ran to the side of the car and were speedily ensconced in its roomy tonneau. "We'll see you at the hotel!" cried Roy, as the car rolled off again, much to the disappointment of the crowd.
Two local constables came up at this juncture and helped the boys keep the crowd back from the machines. The throng seemed souvenir mad. Many of them insisted on writing their names with pencils on the wings of the air craft. Others would have gone further and actually stripped the aëroplanes of odd parts had they not been held back.
"This is the last time we'll land in a town of this size," declared Roy indignantly, as he helped the constables shove back an obstreperous individual who insisted on examining the motor of the Dart.
With the help of the constables a sheltering place for the machines was finally found. A livery stable that had gone out of business the week before was located across the street from the small park in which they had alighted. The owner of the property happened to be in the crowd and a bargain with him was soon struck. The aëroplanes were then trundled on their landing wheels into this shelter and the doors closed. Roy, for a small sum, engaged a tall, gangling-looking youth, whose name was Tam Tammas, to guard the doors and keep off the inquisitive. This done, thoroughly tired out, the boys sought the hotel. Like most towns of its size and importance Meadville only boasted one hostelry worthy of the name. This place, the Fountain House, as it was called, was a decent enough looking hotel and the young aviators were warmly welcomed. After supper, for in Meadville nobody "dined," Miss Prescott and the girls sauntered out with The Wren to obtain some clothing for the waif who had so strangely come into their possession. It was odd, but somehow they none of them even suggested giving up the queer little foundling to the authorities as had originally been their intention. Instead, although none of them actually voiced it, it appeared that tacitly they had decided to keep the child with them.
While they were gone on their errand of helpfulness Roy and Jimsy were seated on the porch of the hotel watching, with more or less languid interest, the inhabitants of the town passing back and forth. Many of them lingered in front of the hotel, for aviators were not common objects in that part of the country, and already the party had become local celebrities.
"I guess we'll go inside," said Roy, at length, "I'm getting sick of being looked at as if I was some sort of natural curiosity."
"Same here," rejoined Jimsy, "we'll go in and I'll play you a game of checkers."
"You're on," was the response.
But as the boys rose to go, or rather the instant before they left their seats, there came a heavy step behind Roy and a gruff voice snarled:
"What are you doing in that chair?"
"Sitting in it," responded Roy, in not too pleasant a voice. The tone in which he had been addressed had aroused a hot resentment in him toward the speaker.
Turning he saw the same red-faced man whom he had been unfortunate enough to knock down.
Instantly his manner changed. He felt genuinely sorry for the accident and hastened to explain that such was the case. But a glowering glance was the only response he received. "You done it a-purpose. Don't tell me," snarled the red-faced individual, "an' now you git right out uv that chair or—or I'll make you!"
Both boys stared at the man in amazement. His tone was coarse and bullying to a degree.
"We are not occupying these chairs to your inconvenience," declared Roy stoutly, "there are lots of others."
He indicated several rockers placed at intervals along the hotel porch, and all empty.
"That chair you're sitting in is mine," snapped the man, in response.
"Got a mortgage on it, eh?" smiled Jimsy amiably.
"I'll show you kids how much of a mortgage I've got on it," was the reply.
It was just then that a lad of about Roy's own age, but with a surly, hang-dog sort of look, emerged from the smoking-room of the hotel.
"What's up, father?" he demanded, addressing the red-faced man.
"Why, Dan, the kids have appropriated my chair."
"Oh, those flying kids. Well, they'll see that they ain't everything around here," responded the lad; "I reckon Jim Cassell has some say here, eh, dad?"
"I reckon so, son," grinned the red-faced man, in response to this elegant speech; "now, then, are you going to give up that chair or not?"
"I was just leaving it when you came out," rejoined Roy, who, by this time, was fairly boiling over. "Under the present conditions, however, I think I shall continue to occupy it."
"You will, eh?" snarled out Dan Cassell, "then I'll show you how to vacate it—so!"
With the words he laid hands on the back of the chair and jerked it from under the young aviator. Roy, caught entirely off his guard, was flung to the floor of the porch. He was up in a flash, but as he rose to his feet Dan Cassell, evidently excited by what he deemed a great triumph, aimed a savage blow at him.
Jimsy was rushing to his assistance but the red-faced man suddenly blocked his path.
"Hold off, son! hold off!" he warned, "unless you want to get the same dose."