“Turn around there,” ordered Bob, hanging out of the carriage and calling to the driver. “It’ll mean a telegram knocking everything into a cocked hat. That’s what comes of telling folks things.”
The appearance of the carriage at the old factory seemed instantly to augment the number of those lounging there. Mrs. Balfour and Tom and Hal were escorted to the waiting aeroplane for their first view of the marvelous machine. And Bob was certainly proud of his work.
Temporarily braced on planks, the wide, fragile planes of the Anclote shimmered beneath the direct sun like the glisten of some great golden-brown beetle. Its aluminum painted, spruce section uprights flashed in the sunlight, while the varnished, polished blades of the propellers reached out like golden arms. For the benefit of his visitors, Bob nodded to Gabe, and the engine was set in motion. Its unconnected mechanism moved as if in a bath of oil. Even the powerful propellers were turned a few times, slowly. Then Mrs. Balfour was even persuaded to mount the aviator’s chair for a moment.
“Take Mother back to the hotel, Hal,” exclaimed Bob, as he helped his parent to alight, “and then you and Jerry get busy. It’s moonlight to-night. You ought to get to the island by one o’clock. We’ll be waitin’ for you. You can go now, Mother,” added Bob, kissing her good bye. “I’ll see you in a week.”
“I’ll wait,” answered Mrs. Balfour with a half nervous smile. “I’ll see it through since I’ve let it go this far.”
With that, the three long restrained boys forgot the crowd. For ten minutes, Bob and Gabe rushed back and forth between the storeroom and the car. The gasoline reservoir was charged to the limit, and the extra tank made fast in the middle of the engine section. The engine was newly oiled, the magnetos tested, the rudder rods examined for the last time, and then Tom received his final instructions. At that, the supporting planks were withdrawn and the Anclote, poised on her starting wheels, was ready for its flight.
If those waiting with open mouths to see the ascent expected a ceremony, they were disappointed. The beginning of the flight was as simple as it was successful. As Bob set the motor in motion, he clamped the spoon brake on the starting wheels. Then, as the clutch caught the big propellers and their arms began to revolve, he gave a last glance at his mother, Hal and Jerry.
The propeller blades moved faster and faster. Even as Bob raised his cap, they seemed to spring to terrific speed. Pushing against the set starting wheels, the light framework suddenly shook and creaked, and, almost before Bob could realize it, the great planes twisted and fluttered as if striving to drag the car forward. Bob’s cap dropped from his hand, and, grasping the rudder levers, he shot his foot against the brake release.
Like a quail beating its wings against the ground as it rushes to its scared flight, the trembling aeroplane darted forward. The forward rudder was already set for the coming rise. As Bob threw this up, the skimming car seemed to slacken speed. If it really did so, it was but for a second. With a keener note in the whirr of the now almost invisible propeller, there was a farewell bump of the wheels on the slope, and then, like a flat skimming stone ducking over the water, the Anclote left the ground.