The Aeroplane Boys on the Wing; Or, Aeroplane Chums in the Tropics

by John Luther Langworthy

So Andy did shout, calling upon his father wildly and waving his cap to him. The prisoner of the enclosed valley seemed dazed at first. Perhaps he had been deceived so many times by his dreams of being saved that he feared this might prove only another delusion. They could see him stand there and put his hand to his head as he stared. It was so very wonderful, this coming of a modern aeroplane to snatch him from his living grave. And then that voice, how like the one he had never expected to hear again!

But by degrees, as the little Bleriot monoplane sank lower, and the forms could be more plainly seen, he began to grasp the truth. Again he showed the most intense excitement, waving his arms and running to keep up with them.

"Wait," said Frank, presently, as he saw that Andy was so excited he could not carry on an intelligent conversation. "I'm going to speak with him and find out if there's any clear spot where we can land."

"Uncle Philip!" he shouted presently, when Andy had subsided. "This is Frank, your nephew, and Andy, your own son. Is there any clear place where we can land?"

The aeronaut understood, because all this was right in line with the profession which he had been following at the time of his vanishing from mortal sight.

He indicated the quarter where a landing might be risked and upon investigating by hovering over the same, Frank decided that it promised success.

So the aeroplane dropped down and touched ground. It bumped along for a little distance and then Andy, leaping out, managed to bring its progress to a halt. They were in the enchanted valley, from whence those wonderful messages had floated, one of which, by a strange freak of fate, had eventually reached the boy thousands of miles away, for whose eyes it had been intended!

And immediately Andy was clasped in the arms of his father. He knew him despite the long gray beard, which had grown during his many months of confinement, with hope daily choked by despair. His clothing was almost in tatters, and he seemed thin and peaked; but the look upon his drawn face now was of supreme happiness.

Then, after they had in some measure recovered from all this intense excitement, the boys sat down to tell what a miracle had been wrought, bringing the message to the home in far away Bloomsbury. With an arm still encircling the form of his boy Professor Bird listened and asked many eager questions.

"And to think," he said, finally, "that little messenger you saw going up just now was constructed of the very last fragment of the old balloon silk. I made a fire with flint and steel, filled it with hot air and sent it up with prayers, believing that it was my forlorn chance. And then I heard the exhaust of your motor. I feared my mind was giving way under the terrible strain. When I looked up and saw an aeroplane sail into view I fell down on my face, believing I had gone mad. But it was a blessed reality, thank God!"