Intimate as the young aviator was with the Gossamer and every detail of her delicate mechanism, he could not resist the fascination of looking over the most beautiful model in the airship field.
The Gossamer had proven a revelation, even to skilled airmen. It had been constructed in strict secrecy. The public had known nothing as to the details of the craft until it was taken out on Lake Linden to test its balance and speed.
It was equipped to carry four passengers, was driven by a forty horse-power motor, and made the tremendous speed of fifty miles an hour in the water and sixty miles an hour in the air. With its two propellers driven by clutch and chain transmission, and its new automatic starter and fuel gauge, it was a marvel of beauty and utility, as readily sent up from the confined deck of a warship as from the broadest aero field.
“She’s a bird, sure enough,” declared old Grimshaw, admiringly.
“Wasn’t she sort of built for a bird?” challenged Dave, with a smile.
“That’s so. Ah, I hear the wagon. Hiram is coming.”
The two went outside the enclosure, and the man looked keenly down the road in the direction of the village.
“Why Dashaway,” he exclaimed, “it’s Hiram, but he isn’t bringing the party you expected.”
“That’s queer,” commented the young aviator.
“He’s all alone—oh, no, he isn’t. He’s got one passenger aboard—a girl.”