A Viking of the Sky: A Story of a Boy Who Gained Success in Aeronautics

by Joan Clark

  CHAPTER V

  CHALLENGING THE AIR

  Once within the quiet silence of the old workshop Hal plumped down on asawhorse and pulled the note out of his pocket.

  Quickly he unfolded the paper, and gave a gasp at the contents. It was anote scribbled to the head of the Rand-Elwin Flying School, saying:"Here's a real air-minded boy who risked his life for a flyer. He wantsto become one of us, and all he'll need is work to pay for lessons. Ithink you could use such a boy."

  Hal Dane's head was in a whirl as he read and re-read the few scribbledlines. Hal had every right to feel dizzy. Raynor's words were suddenlyopening up and making real to him certain vague, misty dreams he haddesperately believed would somehow materialize in a far, far distantfuture.

  Instead, they were materializing now--right now--immediately. The boysitting rigid on the old sawhorse suddenly shut his eyes, as if therealized dreams were too dazzlingly bright. Flying school--actualtraining! He'd live with planes--eat, sleep, dream with planes--till heknew every inch of the real machinery of aeromotors. Then a pilot'slicense! That would open the world for him.

  Hal Dane would fly a real plane--make real money. His vision traveledfast. Mother should have everything. No more bending over "taken-in"sewing with weariness pains lacing her bent back and lines deepening inher face. Uncle Tel should have all the pipes, all the books he wanted.They'd do over the old house, renovate it back to its former two-storiedelegance, paint, flowers--he'd--the dream circled back on itself andbegan all over again at airships, Hal Dane aviator!

  Hal slid down off the saw bench. He'd write the letter toRand-Elwin--now.

  That same day's mail carried Hal's letter to the Flying School, a fervidboyish epistle stating how enthusiastically hard he'd work if they wouldonly give him the chance. Pinned to it was Raynor's all-importantscribble.

  A week's space brought the answer. It was a business-like typed sheetsigned by the Mr. Rand of the Rand-Elwin.

  Crowded as they were with pay students, it was out of the ordinary, hewrote, for them to take one to work out his tuition expenses. But thewritten recommendation from Mr. Raynor (one of their former men), also apersonal visit from him pertaining to this matter in hand, had inclinedthe school to change its policy in this case. Work would be found forhim in the hangars or in the corps of mechanicians. He could expect nomoney pay for this, of course, but instead would receive the muchgreater pay of free tuition, board and lodging at the barracks. FromRaynor's recommendation, they were expecting great work from him, aninteresting flying future--

  Hal's eyes traveled back from the pleasant prophecy that closed thecommunication,--traveled back and riveted upon "no money pay."

  It had been foolish of him, of course, but somehow he had never figuredat all that there would be "no money pay." He had rosily visionedhimself as pulling down some neat sum for his probable labors atsweeping hangars, trundling grease cans, blocking and unblocking planewheels. Half of this money would have gone to pay flying-tuition, mostof the other half would have gone to the folks back home. In hisvisioning he had slept in some corner of a hangar, had eaten any oldfare.

  But now, no money coming in at all, that was different! The visionseemed closing up, drifting away. Mother and Uncle Tel had to eat. Hehadn't earned much, but he had earned something, enough to keep theirlittle household going, anyway.

  He'd have to stick at this truck job that paid even a pittance of realmoney--give up this flying vision, this Rand-Elwin offer.

  Oh, but how could he? This, his first real chance! In reality it was afull generous thing the Rand-Elwin people were willing to do. They wereoffering lodging, board and something like a thousand dollars in tuitionin exchange for the part-time work of an unknown boy. Only therecommendation of a valuable man like Raynor could have secured himthis.

  His mother, eyes flashing, head held high, insisted stoutly that ofcourse he must go--his chance--he must take it. Why, she'd manage!

  Hal knew exactly how Mary Dane would manage. Sewing, and more sewing,and a pain in the side most of the time. She had put him through highschool that way. Mothers were like that, always insisting that theycould do the impossible--and doing it.

  Well, his mother had sacrificed herself enough for him. Hal shut hislips fiercely.

  The next day his answer went back to the Rand-Elwin Flying School, aletter very different from that first boyishly exuberant communication.This ran: "Sorry--circumstances make it impossible for me to accept yoursplendid, kindly offer--hope at some future date--"

  The clumsy old sliding doors to his barn-hangar were rammed shut, andleft shut. Within were the remains of his greatest wind bird. The torncloth and tangled wires were left undisturbed in their huddled dump. Haldidn't even bother to see what parts were good enough to be rejuvenatedinto some other variety of gliding apparatus. He just ceased toexperiment.

  He repaired the old truck instead. He went after hauling business.Several times a week he made double trips to Interborough. Once he madethree trips--a haul that worked him twenty-three hours out of thetwenty-four. He wanted to work, so that he would be too tired even tothink.

  Summer passed into autumn.

  One day when Hal rattled into the paved streets of Interborough with atowering combination load of cowhides, lightwood bundles and greatblackened sacks of country-burned charcoal, he found himself in themidst of carnival.

  Autumn was a period of street fairs. One had strung its booths ofshooting galleries, side shows and outdoor aerial trapezes along aroped-off concession on one of the city's side streets. Even this earlyin the morning, flags and banners flaunted themselves in a chippergayness. Small dark-skinned people, with a gypsyish, foreign look,busied themselves with settling tent-pins, tautening ropes, setting outtheir tinsel wares,--calling out now and then in soft, slurring accent.

  They might be a travel-grimed lot, these gaudy-costumed traders intinseled junk and these bandy-legged acrobats. But they had beensomewhere, were going somewhere. They caught Hal's imagination, stirredit out of its long, dull dormancy. After he had halted some minutes,while his eyes caught the glint of sunlight on tent tops and flutteringlittle banners, he shot the juice to the old truck and, stiffening hisbackbone behind the wheel, rattled off down the street actuallywhistling. Out across town in an old field behind the warehouse, wherehe went to deliver the roll of cowhides, Hal's eye glimpsed somethingroped down to fence posts and a couple of stakes. A something that senthis heart blood pounding suffocatingly up to his very ears,--anairplane! A battered affair, with the look of having ridden the windsfull many a time! But an airplane, for all that.

  All the air hunger that Hal had been crushing out of his soul for monthssurged up, took possession of him overwhelmingly. Leaving his truckstanding in the sandy street, he slid down, was over the fence, stoodnear this air thing roped down against any chance windstorm. For all itslack of paint, the old bus had good points. It was shaped for speed, itswings gave a sense of balance, proportion too.

  Hal walked round and round it, hands thrust down into his pockets. Hemade no attempt to touch it. He knew from his own experience how onehated having outsiders mauling and prodding at one's contrivances. Butjust standing close, merely looking gave him more pleasure than he hadknown for most of the past summer. He was so absorbed in contemplationof wires and struts and curve-twist of propeller that he was hardlyaware of a knot of men coming down the field towards him. They came in aclose-packed group, talking loudly, gesticulating--evidently in heatedargument over something. Words shot up like explosives. Snatches ofsentences beat into Hal's consciousness.

  "But man, you got to--in the contract,flying--stunting--parachuting--everything--" A fat man waved his arms inwindmill accompaniment to his argument.

  "I know--I know all that," a slender dark fellow with black eyes and aboldly aquiline nose above a square chin interrupted quietly. "I'mwilling to fly, I'm willing to stunt. But I gotter have help. I can'tsail a bus and parachute drop f
rom it all at the same time--not withoutcrashing my bus, and I ain't going to do that for any fifty dollars aday. Ain't my fault. How'd I know old Boff was going to get sick andquit on me for keeps?" The speaker rammed a hand into his pocket. "Say,wait, I'll do the right thing. You can cancel the whole thing. I'll handyou back the dough you paid for yesterday's work--that'll even up--"

  "No, keep the money," a heavy-set fellow said. "It's not the moneythat's worrying us. It's the advertisement business. The city's payingfor the stunts--Trade-in-Interborough Campaign and all that, youknow--got posters plastered over the county, newspapers been tooting itup--if we don't give 'em the thrills we been promising, our countrycustomers pouring in here have got a right to be sore at us. Say, don'tyou know anybody round about you can pick up to stunt?"

  "No-o," the dark fellow shook his head and walked restlessly around theplane, laying a hand affectionately on it here and there. "Boff and I'vebeen out west mostly, don't know any outfits down this way. Sa-a-ay, youget me a man! In a pinch like this, I'll do well by him, give him halfthe dough."

  Half the dough, half of fifty dollars--that would be twenty-fivedollars! A madness, evoked perhaps by his sudden contact once more withairmen and airplanes, stirred Hal Dane clear out of himself. Hardlyconscious that it was he, Hal Dane, who was doing this fantastic thing,he walked straight into the group.

  "I'll take him up on that," he said firmly. "I'll stunt with him!"

  "Umph--eh! You've got the nerve, you sound sporting," the flyer whirledand looked him straight up and down. "But no, you're just a youngster.What would folks say if I let you go up and something happened tous--no, no!"

  "I'm six feet of man, and make my own living--and I can't help beingyoung," said Hal whimsically. Then his grin faded and his face set. Nowthat this fantastic chance was slipping away, he wanted it desperately."Give me the chance," he pleaded. "There's not a dizzy bone in me, andI've got some idea of balance--"

  "Look who it is! That's right what he's telling you, he's got--what youcall it--wing sense." Like a small chipper tornado, Harry Nevin,newspaperman, ploughed up from the rear of the group. "Hey, don't youfolks remember? This is the kid that got his picture in the Star! Wentup with Raynor and brought down Raynor's machine for him, and all that!"

  "Oh, so you know about flying, and running sky busses," stated theaviator with relief.

  "I know about flying--but, well, not so much about real planes,"admitted Hal, honestly.

  "He's sailed all over the country on a glider he made himself," broke inthe reporter. "He knows more about balance in a minute than most--"

  "Have it your own way," burst out the aviator irritably. "Since you'reall so set on letting this kid do your stunting, I'll take him up. Butthe responsibility's on your heads, not mine. And say, you all betterclear out and let us get to work. He ain't got but an hour to be taughtall there is to this here stunting business."

  While the crowd was departing, some over, some crawling under thethree-strand wire fence, the aviator busied himself with peering intothe vitals of his ship. Soon though, he raised up, and stalked over tothe boy.

  "I'm Maben, Max Maben," he said.

  "I'm Hal Dane." The boy stuck out his hand and the older man grasped itin a quick strong motion.

  "Say, what makes you willing to go up in a strange plane, with a strangeflyer, and tackle a lot of stuff you don't know anything about?"

  "Got it in the blood, I reckon, this being crazy about wanting to getmixed up in anything that'll keep me near an airship," mumbled Hal."Anyway, I'd been studying your plane. It looked right to me; I likedits jib," Hal grinned. "Then you came along, and I--well, I reckon Iliked your jib, too."

  "Guess we're going to get on." And Maben grinned back.