“The French didn’t have my aeroplane. It’s the first really practical tetrahedral that—”
“Ouch!” cried Poodle, as the hard word hit his ears.
“Tet-ra-hé-dral—it’s made up of a number of little parts that look like paper wings. Each of them is made up of two triangles, the bottoms together. Like this.”
With an old nail, he scratched on a rock this plan of one of the tiny “wings”:
“Yump,” he went on. “I’ve finally worked out the complete tetrahedral aeroplane, following some plans of Alexander Graham Bell—the man who invented the telephone. You see, boys, with all these little planes put together, the air can get hold of lots more surface than it can on the ordinary aeroplane. It doesn’t make any difference which way the aeroplane is turned, there’s always planes for the air to get under and hold the machine. An ordinary aeroplane is like the sides of a wooden box that honey comes in, and mine is like the honey itself, with all the hundreds of little walls of wax.
“But,” he insisted, “with all these wings, the weight of the whole thing is much less than an ordinary aeroplane would have if it had as much supporting surface as my machine has.
“So the tetrahedral can carry an engine that’s enough bigger than the ordinary aeroplane to make her go much faster than the ordinary one. She could stand an engine that would send her at two hundred miles an hour, and I could guarantee your officers that she’d be able to carry enough gasoline so that she could fly across the country without even a single stop for fuel. And she could make that trip in thirty-five hours, or less—scoot right along at a hundred miles an hour—two hundred at a pinch.
“Another thing is: with all these planes, turned every which way, she’d flutter down like a butterfly, instead of falling hard, if the engine stopped on you, or anything happened to the aviator. That’s the kind of a machine I’ve got! Martin Priest is my name. I’ve been working away on aeroplanes for ten years, and now I’ve got the best in the world!”
Martin Priest was standing up, waving his arms, and yelling. Poodle whispered, “Gee, he’s sure got something, all right! Maybe fits!”