“That’s a gnome motor,” concluded Mr. Goodwin; “revolving type, air-cooled, saves the weight of a fly-wheel because the whole thing is a fly-wheel in itself. Is she all right, Joe? Hop in, then, my boy.”
It was a moment that Harry Arnold never forgot. He would have liked to study the machine a little longer before taking flight, for every detail of it excited his keenest interest. It seemed almost incredible that this man who climbed into the seat beside him could be so offhand about so momentous a thing as mounting and riding the invisible air, but he got in as if he were about to drive a familiar horse along a quiet country road.
Two men stood behind the main planes, steadying them, and the mechanic stood at the center, at the end of the bird-like tail, where the vertical rudders were placed.
The aviator placed one foot conveniently near a small pedal beneath him. His other foot and both of Harry’s rested on a bar, which was all that kept their legs from dangling loosely over the edge of the lower plane. On the outer side of each seat rose one of the supporting struts of the plane above them, forming a convenient handle to steady oneself by.
Mr. Goodwin put his hands on either side of a wheel before him, placed like the steering gear of an automobile. Beside him was an upright lever. He wet his finger and held it up. Then he pulled out a little strip of cheesecloth and held that up. It fluttered a little to one side. “A little to the left, Joe,” said he. The man at the tail pulled the machine about till it faced directly into the breeze—what little there was. Then one of the men at the end came forward and began kicking stones out of the way.
The suspense, to Harry, was delightful. Even here on the ground his position was one of openness and freedom. Below him there was nothing but the bar on which his feet rested. His position, little more than a comfortable perch, gave him a first thrill of exhilaration.
“Run her out, Joe,” called the aviator.
There was a little jerk, and the machine started along the ground, gathering speed till it clipped along at a good pace. Harry saw the men at the ends of the planes pushing and steadying. Their chests were about level with the lower plane. Presently, Goodwin put his foot on a little button, and Harry nearly jumped from his seat from the sudden whir behind him. Louder and more tumultuous it grew, till it rivaled the noise of a sawmill. He saw one of the men at the plane ends reaching up. Yes, they had left the ground. The frame vibrated, sending little tremors through him. They were skimming along toward the encircling crowd.
Presently, Goodwin, holding the wheel steadily, pulled it toward him. The little pair of horizontal planes, resembling a box kite, which were situated about twelve feet in front of them, turned slightly on their axles so that Harry could not see between them now, and he was presently conscious of a backward tilt of his body. They were rising. The noise of the propeller just behind him was deafening. The whole frame was convulsed with its movement. It was plain now that every wire was needed.
Harry clasped the upright by his side and looked down. The line of spectators blurred as the machine passed over it. Then, as they mounted higher, following the tilt of the forward runner, things became clearer, until, about three hundred feet from the ground, land and crowd took their proper perspective, and Harry saw beneath him hundreds of upturned faces.