Penfield led them into a little octagonal room, littered thick with shavings, pieces of silk, tangled masses of reed, and a fishing rod which had been laid under contribution for strips of bamboo. Magazine cuts of the various types of air craft, the Curtis, the Voisin, the Cody, and the Wright, were tacked on the wall.
“That’s the Voisin,” said Penfield, excitedly, as Harry stood before the picture. “It looks like the Wright, but it isn’t, it’s got more longitudinal stability on account of the enclosed ends and partitions. But it can’t coast like the Wright. I like monoplanes best, don’t you? That’s the Bleriot. You can flex the tips of the planes, that’s one thing about it I like. Pat likes the Antoinette model, but I don’t. The Curtis is my favorite,—only, of course, that’s a biplane. You can’t make a toy biplane fly, it needs too much control. But the Curtis is my favorite. It’s the lightest of all, but that isn’t why I like it. And it has the best finish, but that isn’t why I like it, either. It’s the control; you lift and decline the fore planes by shifting the steering wheel. And the balance is controlled by moving your body sideways. Isn’t that a dandy idea? But I like the Wright brothers—my, I’d like to see them!”
“Well, they began just like you,” said Harry.
There was one thing he noticed in particular as he picked up the broken and unfinished models that lay about. The most common, everyday objects had been used for some practical purpose. A circular typewriter eraser acted as wheel to a cog chain. Metal paper clips were used to hold joints. The circular, hollow bar of a gas jet held together and served as ferrule and fore-weight to the three dowel sticks forming a motor-base. The boy seemed to have his own way of doing everything, and everything he had done was ingenious.
On a rough bracket, six feet or so above the floor, stood a battered pewter stein.
“That the cup?” Harry asked.
“Yes, that’s it, but I can’t touch it—not till I’ve won it.”
“Who offered it?” Gordon asked.
“I did, but I make believe it was a club. I’m trying to win it—it’s a trophy. I can’t even touch it till my monoplane flies across the lake.”
Gordon would have laughed, but he encountered Harry’s look, and refrained.