CHAPTER XIX
ARIEL II
“Hold me, Bruce! I’m seeing things!” gasped Hiram Dobbs, half whimsically.
“You’re seeing Dave Dashaway. Both of us are. Oh, hooray!”
“And the Ariel——”
“A new Ariel—Ariel II; don’t you see? Brace up—hurry! Don’t you understand that everything has come out all right at last?”
It was nine o’clock in the morning of the great day. All the entrants were expected to report within the ensuing sixty minutes. On the Saturday previous those who had not qualified fully had been ruled out of the competition. Some had not supplied the required data. Some had not been able to promise the delivery of their machines on the grounds before the contest began. Others were mere amateurs in aviatics, with no demonstrated records.
Those had been anxious, unsatisfactory days for Hiram and Bruce that succeeded the strange, yet definite message from Mr. Brackett. There was a ray of hope in his explicit direction to go right on, just as if there had been no break in the programme laid out by Dave the day they arrived at the International grounds. Both Hiram and Bruce were very secretive. They took a flight each day in the Scout. They mingled with the crowds at headquarters. They picked up all the information possible and kept in touch with everything going on.
The Syndicate crowd had gone past their hangar frequently, as if trying to probe what lay behind their composure and system. Twice they had detected a lurker outside the hangar, eavesdropping. He got little satisfaction, however, for the boys suspected his pretense and talked of matters a thousand miles away from Mr. Brackett, Dave Dashaway and the Ariel.
And now, eager, anxious, prepared for disappointment yet hoping, dreaming, they had come down to the grand stand where the inspection of the entrants of the day was to take place.
Valdec and his crowd were very much in evidence. It was characteristic of the juggler airman to assume airs of mystery, distinction and oddness. He wore a score of trumpetry medals, and gave a reckless swing to his machine as he circled the grounds and alighted the nearest to the stand occupied by the judges. It was plainly to be seen that he believed himself the hero of the day. Worthington strutted around followed by his contingent, some of whom were to take part in various minor contests after the first day. It had been depressing to Hiram to note the buoyancy and assurance of this crowd. It nettled him to think that for him the meet, and all appertaining it to, was a hollow farce without his chum. Then came the climax. Nearly all the contesting air craft had reported, and were in full view inside the roped off space near the starter’s box. It lacked thirty minutes of the stroke of the bell that would exclude all delinquent contestants, when Bruce, seated on a bench, suddenly nudged his companion.
“There’s a beauty,” he remarked and Hiram lifted his rather gloomy glance to inspect a speck of activity cutting the air like a swift yacht on a clear water course.
Far to the south the stranger was evidently making a bee-line direct for the center field. Other eyes than those of the boys began to inspect the approaching biplane. As it came nearer its graceful outlines, its perfectly true maneuvers, caused attention and speculation among expert airmen about the stand. The Valdec crowd had become interested. Then the strained gaze of Hiram Dobbs wavered and he burst forth with the characteristic outbreak:
“Hold me Bruce—I’m seeing things!”
Then in a sort of delirious transport he allowed his equally excited comrade to drag him towards the center field with the ringing announcement that:
“Everything has come out all right at last!”
As they hurried along Hiram stripped off his coat. It revealed him in flight trim, neat and natty, for he had prepared for his very best appearance, not knowing what might turn up. He threw the garment to Bruce with the words: “Take care of it.” Then: “Dave!—Dave!—Dave!” he shouted, tumbled over a rope, and, regaining his feet, stood still, for others had gathered about the Ariel II.
“Everything’s fixed!” gloated Hiram, eager with delight. “Oh, but this is grand!”
Mr. Brackett had suddenly appeared from among the crowd. With him was the manager of the meet, and two other officials. Hiram fancied that the manufacturer was dilating on the points of the new machine, for he moved his hand about, making a sweeping movement over this and that portion of the beautiful mechanism.
Hiram fixed a look upon the chum of whom he had such good reason to feel proud. Never had the young aviator looked so completely at his best. Dave’s eye was bright, his face bronzed with sunburn. He wore an entirely new outfit. He was paying respectful but intelligent attention to the questions of those about him.
“I wonder,” breathed Hiram suddenly. He turned squarely around. It was in the direction of the Syndicate airship. They had named it the Whirlwind. Its pilot had just alighted.
Valdec stood holding to one of the wings, as if spellbound. His lower jaw had fallen, his face was a picture of amazement and discomfiture. To Hiram his usually sneering lips seemed drawn and white as he put some question to Worthington, who stood at his side.
The latter muttered something. Then his head went forward until his big, full neck showed. It was something like a mastiff baffled of its prey. Hiram Dobbs laughed, he could not help it—a joyous, boyish, delighted laugh, and those about the Whirlwind heard him. He received a menacing glance from Valdec. Worthington scowled darkly and showed his teeth.
“Dave!” cried Hiram again, watching his chance, and bolting past several persons engaged in admiring inspection of the new Ariel.
His chum leaped from his seat and their hands met. Their eyes also. In those of his tutor, and close friend, Hiram read nerve and courage. Somehow, he had a sure conviction that Dave Dashaway had come upon the scene at the last moment determined to win.
Not a word passed between them. Too many were listening, and Hiram had sense enough to copy the pleasing composure of his leader. The signal for clearing the field was given from the judges’ stand. Hiram waved a hand joyously at his chum, and got under the ropes. He made out Mr. Brackett and hurried after him, to find Bruce at his heels. The latter did not have the professional badge which had admitted the others to the field.
“Ah, Dobbs!” greeted the big manufacturer, as Hiram crowded up to his side. “And you too, Beresford? Taken care of everything, of course?”
“Just followed orders—sure!” replied Hiram, nodding energetically.
“It paid; didn’t it?” intimated Mr. Brackett, with a wave of his hand towards the new machine and its pilot.
“I should say it did!” cried the impetuous young airman. “Oh, how did you ever bring it all about?”
“Through one of the friends you and Dashaway seem to have the faculty of gaining everywhere you go,” answered the manufacturer.
“Was Dave shut up bad—or long?”
“No. Within twenty-four hours of his capture he was at our plant and has been practicing every day since. As to the old Ariel—what do you think of Ariel II?”
Hiram was satisfied for the present with the brief explanation made. In his own mind he could readily reason out that Borden had, in some way, been instrumental in the escape of Dave.
“They’re getting ready,” broke in Bruce. He was bubbling over with excitement and exultation. Mr. Brackett had led them to a section in the rows just back of the big stand. He had seated himself comfortably, but his two young guests were unable to keep still, and stood up and moved about, buoyant and expectant.
“Plain sailing,” announced some one from the next section, reading the programme, and a smile of satisfaction showed on the face of the big aeroplane manufacturer.
There were twelve entries for this number, for it was a free-for-all, purposely allowed to give air craft builders a chance to show their machines. Hiram and Bruce had eyes only for Dave and the new Ariel. It left the ground at the signal, smoothly and promptly.
“Self-starter,” spoke the complacent manufacturer to his young allies. “For grace, lightness and accuracy we back this, our latest machine, against the world.”
Even to Hiram, daily in the past the companion of Dave Dashaway in his marvelous cloud-work, the aspect of the new machine was a revelation. Its progress was noiseless, its sweep sure and scientific. Within five minutes after the general ascent was made the boys had but to listen to the comments going on about them, to realize that on a popular vote Ariel II would be awarded the prize.
Some of the contesting pilots could not sustain a protracted flight, some of the machines did not work smoothly. The contest narrowed down to six, then to three. The Whirlwind showed great rapidity, but was erratic and shifty at volplane work and drift. Finally Valdec descended. Dave’s last competitor followed his example. The Ariel floated to anchor, buoyant as a swan gliding to rest.
Fifteen minutes later the official marker ascended the little platform on which rested a great ruled-off blackboard. He set at work on event number one.
Hiram’s eyes were snapping. Mr. Brackett drew a long breath of mingled assurance and suspense.
“Hurrah!” yelled Bruce Beresford irrepressibly. Hiram flung his cap up in the air. Mr. Brackett beamed on everybody, and the crowd went wild.
“Event No. 1—Winner, Machine number five,” the man wrote. That was the awarded numeral of the Brackett entry. “Pilot—Dashaway. Points—thirty.”
Thus read the chronicle of the initial event on the big programme, awarding to Dave Dashaway the first victory of the meet.