The Flying Girl. Baum Lyman Frank

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      Brother and sister at last tore themselves away from the fascinating creation and returned to the house, where Steve, thoroughly exhausted, fell asleep in his chair while Orissa was preparing dinner. He went to bed almost immediately after he had eaten and his sister also retired when her mother did, which was at an early hour.

      But Orissa could not sleep. She lay and dreamed of the great triumph before them; of the plaudits of enraptured spectators; of Stephen’s name on every tongue in the civilized world; and, not least by any means, of the money that would come to them. No longer would the Kanes have to worry over debts and duebills; the good things of the world would be theirs, all won by her brother’s cleverness.

      If she slept at all before the gray dawn stole into the sky the girl was not aware of it. By half past four she had smoking hot coffee ready for Steve and herself and after hastily drinking it they rushed to the hangar.

      Steve was bright and alert this morning and declared he had “slept like a log.” He slid the curtains away from the front of the shed and solemnly the boy and girl wheeled the big aëroplane out into the garden. By careful manipulation they steered it between the trees and away to the fence of Marston’s pasture, which adjoined their own premises at the rear. To get it past the fence had been Steve’s problem, and he had arranged to take out a section of the fencing big enough to admit his machine. This was now but a few minutes’ work, and presently the aëroplane was on the smooth turf of the pasture.

      They were all alone. There were no near neighbors, and it was early for any to be astir.

      “One of the most important improvements I have made is my starting device,” said Steve, as he began a last careful examination of his aircraft. “All others have a lot of trouble in getting started. The Wright people erect a tower and windlass, and nearly every other machine uses a track.”

      “I know,” replied Orissa. “I have seen several men holding the thing back until the motors got well started and the propellers were whirling at full speed.”

      “That always struck me as a crude arrangement,” observed her brother. “Now, in this machine I start the motor whirling an eccentric of the same resisting power as the propeller, yet it doesn’t affect the stability of the aëroplane. When I’m ready to start I throw in a clutch that instantly transfers the power from the eccentric to the propeller – and away I go like a rocket.”

      As he spoke he kissed his sister and climbed to the seat.

      “Are you afraid, Steve?” she whispered, her beautiful face flushed and her eyes bright with excitement.

      “Afraid! Of my own machine? Of course not.”

      “Don’t go very high, dear.”

      “We’ll see. I want to give it a thorough test. All right, Ris; I’m off!”

      The motors whirred, steadily accelerating speed while the aëroplane trembled as if eager to dart away. Steve threw in the clutch; the machine leaped forward and ran on its wheels across the pasture like a deer, but did not rise.

      He managed to stop at the opposite fence and when Orissa came running up, panting, her brother sat in his place staring stupidly ahead.

      “What’s wrong, Steve?”

      He rubbed his head and woke up.

      “The forward elevator, I guess. But I’m sure I had it adjusted properly.”

      He got down and examined the rudder, giving it another upward tilt.

      “Now I’ll try again,” he said cheerfully.

      They turned the aircraft around and he made another start. This time Orissa was really terrified, for the thing acted just like a bucking broncho. It rose to a height of six feet, dove to the ground, rose again to plunge its nose into the turf and performed such absurd, unexpected antics that Steve had to cling on for dear life. When he finally managed to bring it to a halt the rudder was smashed and two ribs of the lower plane splintered.

      They looked at the invention with dismay, both silent for a time.

      “Of course,” said Steve, struggling to restrain his disappointment, “we couldn’t expect it to be perfect at the first trial.”

      “No,” agreed Orissa, faintly.

      “But it ought to fly, you know.”

      “Being a flying machine, it ought to,” she said. “Can you mend it, Steve?”

      “To be sure; but it will take me a little time. To-morrow morning we will try again.”

      With grave faces they wheeled it back into the garden and the boy replaced the fence. Then back to the hangar, where Steve put the Kane Aircraft in its old place and drew the curtains – much as one does at a funeral.

      “I’m sure to discover what’s wrong,” he told Orissa, regaining courage as they walked toward the house. “And, if I’ve made a blunder, this is the time to rectify it. To-morrow it will be sure to fly. Have faith in me, Ris.”

      “I have,” she replied simply. “I’ll go in and get breakfast now.”

      CHAPTER VII

      SOMETHING WRONG

      All that day Orissa was in a state of great depression. Even Mr. Burthon noticed her woebegone face and inquired if she were ill. The girl had staked everything on Steve’s success and until now had not permitted a doubt to creep into her mind. But the behavior of the aircraft was certainly not reassuring and for the first time she faced the problem of what would happen if it proved a failure. They would be ruined financially; the place would have to be sold; worst of all, her brother’s chagrin and disappointment might destroy his youthful ambition and leave him a wreck.

      Somehow the girl managed to accomplish her work that day and at evening, weary and despondent, returned to her home. When she left the car her step was slow and dragging until Steve came running to meet her. His face was beaming as he exclaimed:

      “I’ve found the trouble, Ris! It was all my stupidity. I put a pin in the front elevator while I was working at it, and forgot to take it out again. No wonder it wouldn’t rise – it just couldn’t!”

      Orissa felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

      “Are you sure it will work now?” she asked breathlessly.

      “It’s bound to work. I’ve planned all right; that I know; and having built the aircraft to do certain things it can’t fail to do them. Provided,” he added, more soberly, “I haven’t overlooked something else.”

      “Are the repairs completed, Steve?”

      “All is in apple-pie order for to-morrow morning’s test.”

      It was a dreadfully long evening for them both, but after going to bed Orissa was so tired and relieved in spirit that she fell into a deep sleep that lasted until Steve knocked at her door at early dawn.

      “Saturday morning,” he remarked, as together they went out to the hangar. “Do you suppose yesterday being Friday had anything to do with our hard luck?”

      “No; it was only that forgotten pin,” she declared.

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