Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  At this juncture Chesty Todd came in. His face was solemn and dejected.

  “What’s up?” asked Steve.

  “Lost my job, that’s all,” said Chesty. “Our editor thinks I didn’t run down that Burthon affair as well as the other fellows did and that I neglected some of the famous aviators to gush over Miss Kane. That’s his excuse, anyhow; but my private opinion, publicly expressed, is that I was predoomed to be fired, whatever I did.”

  “Why so?” inquired Orissa.

  “I’m getting too good. They’re afraid if they kept me on I’d demand more wages.”

  There was a shout of laughter at this.

  “Of course I didn’t expect sympathy,” observed Chesty, dolefully. “I see starvation ahead of me, and as there’s a good deal of Mr. Radley-Todd to starve it’s bound to be a tedious and trying experience.”

  “This interests me,” remarked Mr. Cumberford, musingly.

  “Me, also,” said Chesty.

  Cumberford related the engagement made that morning for Miss Kane’s San Francisco exhibition and the demand of the New Orleans representative.

  “The promoters of every aviation meet, hereafter, will want to secure Orissa,” he added, “and so we are about to organize a campaign to advertise ‘The Flying Girl’ and the Kane Aircraft throughout the United States. Possibly we may take her to Europe — ”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Orissa, excitedly. “Don’t you think the people of Mars would like me to visit them?”

  “I see,” said Chesty, nodding. “You need a press agent.”

  “It might not be a bad idea,” admitted Mr. Cumberford.

  “I’m engaged from this moment,” declared the young man. “I’ve had my breakfast, thank you, but I shall require three square meals a day from this time on. Any further emolument I leave to you. As for promoting Miss Kane, you’ll find me thoroughly capable and willing — provided the young lady proves flighty and goes up in the air occasionally, as young ladies are prone to do. This may be a soar subject to discuss just now, so I’ll end my aeroplaintive lay.”

  “If you put that bosh in the papers you’ll ruin us,” said Steve.

  “Trust me,” returned Chesty, earnestly. “I’ll stick to the most dignified facts, merely relating that Miss Kane is to make an ascension for the purpose of picking air currants to make jam of.”

  “All right,” announced Mr. Cumberford; “you’re engaged.”

  THE FLYING GIRL AND HER CHUM

  The Flying Girl and Her Chum appeared in 1912, published by Reilly & Britton and illustrated by Joseph Pierre Nuyttens. Baum once again employed the pseudonym, Edith Van Dyne. A sequel to Flying Girl, published a year earlier, the heroine, young Orissa Kane is now a famous flying ace. While piloting her inventor brother’s new Hydro-Aircraft, Orissa and her companion have mechanical problems and land on an uncharted island in the Pacific, where they cope with life as castaways. Rescue attempts and trouble with Mexican bandits ensue. Baum intended to create a “Flying Girl” series, but although he planned a third volume, he abandoned it when the series did not prove popular.

  A first edition copy of The Flying Girl and Her Chum

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE GIRL WITH THE YACHT

  PERHAPS THEY CALL them “parlor” cars because they bear so little resemblance to the traditional parlor — a word and a room now sadly out of style. In reality they are ordinary cars with two rows of swivel seats down the center; seats supposed to pivot in every direction unless their action is impeded by the passenger’s hand baggage, which the porter promptly piles around the chairs, leaving one barely room to place his feet and no chance at all to swing the seat. Thus imprisoned, you ride thoughtfully on your way, wondering if the exclusive “parlor car” is really worth the extra fee.

  However, those going to San Diego, in the Southland of California, are obliged to choose between plebeian coaches and the so-called “parlor” outfit, and on a mild, sunny morning in February the San Diego train rolled out of the Los Angeles depot with every swivel seat in the car de luxe occupied by a passenger.

  They were a mixed assemblage, mostly tourists bound for Coronado, yet quite unknown to one another; or, at least, not on speaking terms. There was a Spanish-looking gentleman in white; two prim, elderly damsels in black; a mamma with three subdued children and a maid; and a fat man who read a book and scowled at every neighbor who ventured a remark louder than a whisper. Forward in the car the first three seats were taken by a party from New York, and this little group of travelers attracted more than one curious glance.

  “That,” murmured one of the prim ladies to the other, “is Madeline Dentry, the famous heiress. No one knows how many millions she has just inherited, but she is said to be one of the richest girls in America. The stout lady is her chaperone; I believe — she’s a distant relative — an aunt, or something — and the thin, nervous man, the stout lady’s husband, is Madeline Dentry’s financial manager.”

  “I know,” replied the other, nodding; “he used to be her guardian before she came of legal age, a month or so ago. His name is Tupper — Martin J. Tupper — and I’m told he is well connected.”

  “He is, indeed, to have the handling of Madeline’s millions.”

  “I mean in a family way. The Dentrys were nobodies, you know, until Madeline’s father cornered the mica mines of the world and made his millions; but the Tuppers were a grand old Baltimore family in the days of Washington, always poor as poverty and eminently aristocratic.”

  “Do you know the Tuppers?”

  “I have never met them. I strongly disapprove of their close association with Miss Dentry — a fly-away miss who kept Bryn Mawr in a turmoil while she was a student there, and is now making an absurd use of her money.”

  “In what way?”

  “Haven’t you heard? She has purchased Lord Tweedmonk’s magnificent yacht, and has had it taken to San Diego harbor. I was told by the bell boy at the Los Angeles Hotel — bell boys are singularly well-informed, I have observed — that Madeline Dentry is to take her new yacht on a cruise to Hawaii and Japan. She is probably now on her way to see her extravagant and foolish plaything.”

  “Dreadful!” said the other, with a shudder. “I wonder how anyone can squander a fortune on a yacht when all those poor heathens are starving in China. What a pity the girl has no mother to guide her!”

  “Tell me about the beautiful girl seated next to Madeline.”

  “I do not know who she is. Some stranger to the rich young lady, I imagine. They’re not speaking. Yes, she is really beautiful, that girl. Her eyes are wonderful, and her coloring perfect.”

  “And she seems so modest and diffident.”

  “Evidence of good breeding, whoever she may be; quite the opposite of Madeline Dentry, whose people have always been rapid and rude.”

  The fat gentleman was now glaring at the old ladies so ferociously that they became awed and relapsed into silence. The others in the car seemed moodily reserved. Mr. Martin J. Tupper read a newspaper. His stolid wife, seated beside him, closed her eyes and
napped. Madeline Dentry, abandoning a book that was not interesting, turned a casual glance upon her neighbor in the next chair — the beautiful girl who had won the approval of the two old maids. Madeline herself had a piquant, attractive countenance, but her neighbor was gazing dreamily out of the window and seemed not to have noticed her. In this listless attitude she might be inspected at leisure, and Madeline was astonished at the perfect profile, the sheen of her magnificent hair, the rich warm tintings of a skin innocent of powders or cosmetics. Critically the rich young lady glanced at the girl’s attire. It was exceedingly simple but of costly material. She wore no jewels or ornaments, nor did she need them to enhance her attractiveness.

  Perhaps feeling herself under observation, the girl slowly turned her head until her eyes met those of Madeline. They were gloriously blue eyes, calm and intelligent, wide open and fearless. Yet with a faint smile she quickly withdrew them before Madeline’s earnest gaze.

  “Will you have a chocolate?”

  “Thank you.”

  The strong hand with its well-shaped fingers did not fumble in Madeline’s box of bonbons. She took a chocolate, smiled again, and with a half shy glance into her neighbor’s face proceeded to nibble the confection.

  Madeline was charmed.

  “Are you traveling alone?” she asked.

  “Yes. I am to meet my brother and — some friends — in San Diego.”

  “I am Miss Dentry — Madeline Dentry. My home is in New York.”

  “And mine is in Los Angeles. I am not straying very far away, you see.”

  Madeline was piqued that her hint was disregarded.

  “And your name?” she asked sweetly.

  The girl hesitated an instant. Then she said: “I am Miss Kane.”

  Mr. Tupper looked up from his newspaper.

  “Kane?” he repeated. “Bless me! That’s the name of the Flying Girl.”

  “So it is,” admitted Miss Kane, with a little laugh.

  “But flying is not in your line, I imagine,” said Madeline, admiring anew the dainty personality of her chance acquaintance.

  “At present our train is dragging, rather than flying,” was the merry response.

  Mr. Tupper was interested. He carefully folded his paper and joined in the conversation.

  “The idea of any girl attempting to do stunts in the air!” he remarked disdainfully. “Your namesake, Miss Kane, deserves to break her venturesome, unmaidenly neck — as she probably will, in the near future.”

  “Nonsense, Uncle!” cried Madeline; “Orissa Kane, so far as I’ve read of her — and I’ve read everything I could find — is not at all unmaidenly. She’s venturesome, if you like, and manages an aeroplane better than many of the bird-men can; but I see nothing more unwomanly in flying than in running an automobile, and you know I do that to perfection. This Flying Girl, as she is called, is famous all over America for her daring, her coolness in emergencies and her exceptional skill. I want to see her fly, while I’m out here, for I understand there’s to be an aviation meet of some sort in San Diego next week, and that Orissa Kane is engaged to take part in it.”

  “Flying is good sport, I admit,” said Mr. Tupper, “but it would give me the shivers to see a girl attempt it. And, once a machine is in the air, you can’t tell whether a man or woman is flying it; they all look alike to the watcher below. Don’t go to this aviation meet, Madeline; you’ve seen girls fly. There was Miss Moisant, at Garden City — ”

  “She barely got off the ground,” said Miss Dentry. “And there was Blanche Scott — ”

  “They’re all imitators of Orissa Kane!” declared Madeline impatiently. “There’s only one real Flying Girl, Uncle, and if she’s on the program at the San Diego meet I’m going to see her.”

  “You’ll be disappointed,” averred the gentleman. “She’s a native of these parts, they say; I presume some big-boned, masculine, orange-picking female — ”

  “Wrong again, sir! The reporters all rave about her. They say she has a charming personality, is lovely and sweet and modest and — and — ” She paused, her eyes dilating a little as she marked the red flush creeping over Miss Kane’s neck and face. Then Madeline drew in her breath sharply and cast a warning glance at her uncle.

  Mr. Tupper, however, was obtuse. He knew nothing of Madeline’s suspicions.

  “Have you ever seen this dare-devil namesake of yours, Miss Kane?” he asked indifferently.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered in a quiet tone.

  “And what did you think of her?”

  Madeline was powerless to stop him. Miss Kane, however, looked at her questioner with candid eyes, a frank smile upon her beautiful face.

  “She has a fine aeroplane,” was her reply. “Her brother invented it, you know. It’s the Kane Aircraft, the safest and speediest yet made, and Stephen Kane has taught his sister how to handle it. That she flies his Aircraft successfully is due, I am sure, to her brother’s genius; not to any especial merit of her own.”

  Mr. Tupper was staring now, and beginning to think. He remembered reading a similar assertion attributed to Orissa Kane, the Flying Girl, who always insisted on crediting her brother with whatever success she achieved. Perhaps this girl had read it, too; or, perhaps —

  He began to “put two and two together.” Southern California was the favorite haunt of the Flying Girl; there was to be an aviation meet presently at San Diego; and on this train, bound for San Diego, was riding a certain Miss Kane who answered to Madeline’s description of the aerial heroine — a description he now remembered to have often read himself. Uncertain what to say, he asked haltingly:

  “Do you call it aviatrix or ‘aviatrice’? The feminine of ‘aviator,’ you know.”

  “I should say ‘aviatress,’ now that you appeal to me,” was the laughing reply. “Some of the newspaper men, who love to coin new words, have tried to saddle ‘aviatrice’ on the girl aviator, and the French have dubbed her ‘aviatrix’ without rhyme or reason. It seems to me that if ‘seamstress,”governess’ or ‘hostess’ is proper, ‘aviatress’ is also correct and, moreover, it is thoroughly American.

  But in — in the profession — on the aviation field — they call themselves ‘aviators’ whether men or women, just as an author is always an ‘author,’ regardless of sex.”

  Mr. Tupper had made up his mind, by this time. He reasoned that a girl who talked so professionally of aviation terms must be something more than a novice, and struggled to remember if he had inadvertently said anything to annoy or humiliate Miss Kane. For, if the little maid so demurely seated before him was indeed the famous Flying Girl, the gentleman admitted he had good reason to admire her. Madeline was watching his embarrassment with an expression of amusement, but would not help him out of his dilemma. So Mr. Tupper went straight to the heart of the misunderstanding, as perhaps was best under the circumstances.

  “Your first name is Orissa?” he inquired, gently.

  “It is, sir.”

  “Won’t you have another chocolate?” asked Madeline.

  Orissa took another chocolate, reflecting how impossible it seemed to hide her identity, even from utter strangers. Not that she regretted, in any way, the celebrity she had gained by flying her brother Stephen’s Aircraft, but it would have been so nice to have ridden to-day with these pleasant people without listening to the perfunctory words of praise and adulation so persistently lavished upon her since she had acquired fame.

  “I knew Cumberford some years ago,” continued Mr. Tupper, rather aimlessly. “Cumberford’s your manager, I believe?”

  “Yes, sir; and my brother’s partner.”

  “Good chap, Cumberford. Had a queer daughter, I remember; an impossible child, with the airs of a princess and the eyes of a sorceress. She’s grown up, by this time, I suppose.”

  Miss Kane smiled.

  “Sybil Cumberford is my best chum,” she replied. “The description still applies, so far as the airs and eyes are concerned; but the child is a young lady now,
and a very lovable young lady, her friends think.”

  “Doubtless, doubtless,” Mr. Tupper said hastily. “If Cumberford is in San Diego I shall be glad to renew our acquaintance.”

  “You are bound for Coronado, I suppose,” remarked Orissa, to change the subject.

  “Only for a few days’ stay,” Madeline answered. “Then we expect to make a sea voyage to Honolulu.”

  “That will be delightful,” said the girl. “I’ve lived many years on the shores of the Pacific, but have never made a voyage farther to sea than Catalina. I’m told Honolulu is a fascinating place; but it needs be to draw one away from Coronado.”

  “You like Coronado, then?”

  “All this South Country is a real paradise,” declared Orissa. “I have had opportunity to compare it with other parts of America, and love it better after each comparison. But I am ignorant of foreign countries, and can only say that if they excel Southern California they are too good for humans to live in and ought to be sacred to the fairies.”

  Madeline laughed gayly.

  “I know you now!” she exclaimed; “you are what is called out here a ‘booster.’ But from my limited experience in your earthly paradise I cannot blame you.”

  “Yes, we are all ‘boosters,’” asserted the younger girl, “and I’m positive you will join our ranks presently. I love this country especially because one can fly here winter and summer.”

  “You are fond of flying?”

  “Yes. At first I didn’t care very much for it, but it grows on one until its fascinations are irresistible. I have the most glorious sense of freedom when I’m in the airway up, where I love best to be — but during my recent exhibitions in the East I nearly froze making the high flights. It is a little cold even here when you are half a mile up, but it is by no means unbearable.”

  “They call you a ‘dare-devil’ in the newspapers,” remarked Mr. Tupper, eyeing her reflectively; “but I can scarcely believe one so — so young and — and — girlish has ventured to do all the foolish aerial tricks you are credited with.”