“I’m followin’ out your idea,” assented the captain. “But I don’t know what it means.”
Andy laughed and explained it all again.
“Turning to the right with the usual rudder, tends to make the machine dart in that direction, just as a boat does when you turn quickly. To stop that, a part of the aeroplane surface on that side is drawn down—that increases the atmospheric pressure and tends to right the machine; the flexing wires see to that. But my uncle’s bird-tail guide goes further: it attempts to lessen this tendency to dart by flexing the rudder on the side that isn’t doing the turning. By elevating the idle corner, he decreases the wind pressure, and that part of the machine settles. See?”
“I don’t,” admitted the captain. “But there’s the machinery to do what you want.”
[CHAPTER X]
DESPERATE NEEDS AND A BOLD APPEAL
Before the end of the coming week the aeroplane would be finished. As this time approached, Andy began to be greatly bothered. At first, he had worried alone over the airship and the possibility of being able to construct it. Now, he was satisfied that a practicable air craft would result.
“And what then?” Andy was debating this on Sunday morning as he stood before the idle boathouse. “What’s the good of it all? It’s a cinch that my mother ain’t goin’ to let me try to run it. And what if she does consent? For a fellow who hasn’t had a particle of experience, to bang away with a car like that’d be a crime. Everyone has to learn. I can, I know, but a fellow certainly don’t do it the first time. It’s twenty chances to one that I’d break the thing the first dash out of the box. Gee whiz! but it does seem a shame.”
“What’s a shame?” asked Captain Anderson, who was strolling to a seat on the pier.