CHAPTER X
WINNING THE CONTEST
The day which was to witness the tests of the aeroplane models for theprizes offered by the professor of aeronautics dawned still and fair.It followed several days of storm, in which the boys had been unable tomake any excursions in their motor boat, or into the country, or,indeed, even to devote any time to the engrossing subject of tracingthe theft of the uniforms to its source.
Early in the morning a small field in the rear of Mr. Blake's house waswell filled with boys of all ages and sizes, watching the contestantsin the model contest trying out their craft. The models were of allsorts and sizes. Some were freak craft that had been constructed in ahurry from pictures, without any attention being paid to scale orproportions, while others were carefully made bits of mechanism.
Among the latter class were Paul Perkins' monoplane--Silver Arrow, hecalled it,--Hiram Nelson's two models, the monoplane of Tom Maloney, alad of about sixteen, and Ed River's little duplicate of a Curtissbiplane. The contest was to take place on the Main Street of the town,in front of the bank, and in the middle of the course two poles hadbeen erected, one on each side of the street, between which a brightlycolored tape had then been strung, forming a sort of aerial hurdle.The tape was fifty feet above the ground, and to qualify at all itwould be necessary for the contesting models to clear it.
The lecture which took place in the village hall came first and waswell attended, most of the young folks of Hampton being there. If thetruth must be told, however, while the lecturer was expounding hissubject, illustrating it on the blackboard with chalk drawings, themajority of his young hearers were wishing that it was over and thecontest really begun.
Especially was this true of the boys of the Eagle Patrol, who wereevery one of them anxious to see what kind of aeroplanes Jack Curtissand Bill Bender would have produced. The lecture, however, at lastcame to an end, and the gentlemen on the platform shook hands with theprofessor and the professor shook hands with them, and somebody calledfor three cheers for "Hampton's distinguished son."
Everybody then lost no time in filing out into the afternoon sunlight,where they found quite a crowd already on the streets, and a smallwooden grand stand, which had been erected near what was expected to bethe finishing line, seating several guests. The committee and theprofessor, led by the Hampton brass band, blaring away at patrioticairs, made their way to the front seats in the structure, and everybodywas requested to line up on each side of the street, so as to make aclear lane for the models to fly in.
The starting line was about a hundred yards from the red tape, and thecontestants were compelled to stand back of this. Mr. Wingate, thepresident of the yacht club and member of the Boy Scout Council, hadalready shuffled the numbers of the contestants in a hat, and they wereto fly their models in the order in which they drew their figures.
Up to this time there had been no sign of Jack Curtiss or Bill Bender,but the boys now saw them hastening up to a member of the committee andwhispering to him. A moment later a man, with a megaphone boomed outfrom the grand stand:
"William Bender announces that he has withdrawn from the contest."
"Aha! I'll bet Jack's got cold feet, too," whispered Hiram, nudgingPaul, who was kneeling down and winding up the long rubber bands whichdrove the propellers of the Silver Arrow, an Antoinette model.
But a short interval showed him to be mistaken, for Jack, with hisusual confident air, repaired to the buggy in which he had driven intotown from his father's farm, and speedily produced a model that causedloud sighs of "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" to circulate through the juvenileportion of the crowd.
However he had managed to accomplish it, the bully had certainlyproduced a beautiful model. It was of the Bleriot type, and finishedperfectly down to the minutest detail. Every wire and brace on it wassilvered with aluminum paint, and it even bore a small figure at itssteering wheel. Beside it the other models looked almost clumsy.
The faces of the Boy Scouts fell.
"If that machine can fly as well as she looks," said Rob to Merritt,"she wins the first prize."
"Not a doubt of it," was Merritt's reply.
"Oh, well," put in Tubby, for the three inseparables were standingtogether, "if he can win the prize fairly, don't knock him. Hecertainly has built a beautiful machine. You've got to give him creditfor that."
And now, as Jack, with a triumphant smile at the glances of admirationhis model excited, strode to the starting point, elbowing small boysaside, and drew from the hat, the man with the megaphone once morearose. He held in his hand the result of the drawing and the order inwhich the models would fly.
"The f-i-r-s-t model to com-pete for the big p-r-ize," he bellowed,"will be that of Thomas Maloney--a Bler-i-ot!"
Poor Tom might have called his machine a Bleriot, but it is doubtful ifthe designer of the original machine of that name would have recognizedthe model as having any more than a distant relationship to the famoustype of monoplane. It was provided with a large tin propeller,however, and seemed capable of at least accomplishing a flight. Infact, at the trials in the morning it had flown well, and by some ofthe lads was regarded as a sort of "dark horse." As Tom was on thevillage team, as opposed to the Boy Scout contingent, he was greetedwith loud cheers and whistles by his friends as he stepped to thestarting line, and, holding his already wound up machine in his hand,made ready to launch it.
"Crack!" went the pistol.
At the same instant Tom, with a thrusting motion, released his model;but, alas! instead of darting forward like the Sparrow Hawk it wasnamed after, the craft ingloriously wobbled about eccentrically, andfinally alighted on an old lady's bonnet, causing her to exclaim as thepropeller whizzed round and entangled itself in her hair:
"No good'll ever come of teaching lads to meddle with these herecontraptions."
The model having finally been extricated, amid much laughter, and poorTom having offered mortified apologies, the announcer made known thatHiram Nelson's Doodlebug monoplane would essay a flight.
As the pistol sounded, Hiram launched his craft, and amid cheers fromthe crowd it soared up, and, just clearing the red tape, settledgracefully down a few feet the other side of the two hundred foot line.
"Good for you, Hiram!" exclaimed Ernest Thompson, the bike scout, whowas acting as a patrol on the course. "Whose turn next?"
"You kids wait till I get my Bleriot started," sneered Jack. Severalsmall boys near him, who were mortally afraid of the big fellow andrather admired him as being "manly," set up a cheer at this.
"Wait for Jack's dandy model to fly!" they cried.
"Edward Rivers--model of a Curtiss biplane!" came the next announcementthrough, the megaphone.
Another cheer greeted this, as young Rivers was also on the "town team."
The little Curtiss darted into the air at the pistol crack and flewstraight as an arrow for the red tape. It cleared it easily andskimmed on down past the grand stand, and alighted, fluttering like atired butterfly, beyond Hiram's model.
"Three hundred feet!" cried the announcer, amid a buzz of approval,after the measurers of the course had done their work.
"Paul Perkins--Bleriot!" was the next announcement.
A hum of excitement went through the crowds that lined the track. Itbegan to look as if the record of Ed Rivers' machine would be hard tobeat, but from the determined look on his face and his gritted teeth itwas evident that Paul meant to try hard.
Before the report of the pistol had died out, the yellow-wingedDragonfly soared upward from Paul's hand and darted like a streakacross the red tape, clearing it at the highest altitude yet achievedby any of the models.
"Hurrah!" yelled the crowd.
On and on sped the little Bleriot, while Paul watched it withpride-flushed cheeks. It was evident that it was going to out-distancethe record made by Ed Rivers' machine. The Boy Scouts set up theirPatrol cry:
"Kr-ee-ee-ee-ee!"
As the little machine settled to the ground, far bey
ond the grandstand, the officials ran out with their tapes, and presently theannouncement came blaring down the packed ranks of the onlookers:
"Three hundred and fifty feet!"
What a cheer went up then.
"I guess you've got it won. Congratulations!" said Ed Rivers, pressingforward to Paul's side.
"Thanks, Ed," returned the other; "but 'there's many a slip,' you know,and there are several others to be flown yet."
Now came in rapid succession several of the smaller models and freakdesigns. Some of these wobbled through the air and landed in thecrowd. Others sailed blithely up toward the red tape and just fellshort of clearing it. Another landed right on the tape and hung there,the target of irreverent remarks from the crowd.
While this was going on, Bill Bender, Jack Curtiss and Sam were inclose consultation.
"Remember, you promised that if you won the prize you'd give that moneyback," Sam whispered to Jack, "and for goodness' sake, don't forget it.I half believe that those boys suspect us already."
"Nonsense," returned the bully. "And what if they do? We covered upour tracks too well for them to have anything on us. They can't proveanything, can they?"
"I--I--I don't know," stammered Sam, and was about to say more, but theclarion voice of the announcer was heard informing the crowd that:
"John Curtiss' Bleriot model will now make a flight for the greatprize."
With a confident smile on his face, Jack stepped forward and held hismodel ready. The murmur of admiration that had greeted its firstappearance was repeated as he held it high in the sunlight and theafternoon rays glinted and shimmered on its fittings and wings.
"That's the model for my money," remarked a man in the crowd.
"It's going to win, too," said Jack confidently.
Just at that moment the pistol cracked, and Jack released hismuch-admired air craft.
Its flight showed that it was as capable of making as beautiful asoaring excursion as its graceful outlines and careful finish seemed toindicate. In a long, sweeping glide, it arose and cleared the red tapeby a greater margin than had Paul Perkins' model.
"Jack Curtiss wins!" yelled the crowd, as the machine soared right onand did not begin its downward swoop for some distance. After it hadalighted and the measurers had laid their tapes on the course, theannouncer megaphoned, amid a perfect tornado of roars and cheers:
"The last flight, ladies and gentlemen--and apparently the winningone--accomplished the remarkable distance of four hundred and fiftyfeet--four hundred and fifty feet."
"Three cheers for Jack Curtiss!" shouted Bill Bender, slapping Jackheartily on the back and giving most of the cheers himself.
"I guess those cubs won't be quite so stuck up now," commented Sam,shaking Jack's hand warmly.
"I was pretty sure I'd win," modestly remarked the bully, as he beganshouldering his way through the press toward the judges' stand. He wasclosely followed by the boys, as it looked as if Paul Perkins mighthave won the second prize and Ed Rivers the third.
Urged by Bill Bender, the band began puffing away at "See, theConquering Hero Comes," and Jack, nothing averse to appearing in such arole, bowed gracefully right and left to the admiring throngs.
The professor shook hands warmly with the victorious Jack, and remarked:
"You are to be congratulated, young man. I have rarely seen a bettermodel, and your skill does you great credit. Are you thinking oftaking up aeronautics seriously?"
The bully, his face very red, stammered that he had entertained somesuch thoughts.
The professor was about to reply, when there came a sudden sound ofconfusion among that portion of the crowd which had surrounded thedelegates deputed to pick up the aeroplanes and bring them to thestand. This was in order that they might be exhibited as each prizewas awarded. A small boy with a very excited face was seen strugglingto get through the mass, and he finally gained the judges' stand. Ashe faced the congratulatory professor he stuttered out:
"Please, sir, there's something wrong about Jack Curtiss' machine."
"What do you mean, you impudent young shaver!" shouted the bully,turning white, nevertheless.
"Let the lad speak," said Mr. Blake, who as one of the committee wasstanding beside the professor. "What is it, my boy? Let me see.You're Joe Digby, of the Eagle Patrol, aren't you."
"Yes, sir; and I live out on a farm near Jack Curtiss. I was watchinghim fly his machine this morning, from behind a hedge, and I heard themsaying something about 'their store-made machine beating any countryboy's model.'"
"He's a young liar! Pay no attention to him," stammered Jack, lickinghis dry lips.
"Silence, sir!" said Mr. Blake gravely. "Let us listen to what thisboy has to say. If he is not speaking the truth, you can easilydisprove it. Go on, my boy."
"Well, I guess that's about all I know about it: but I thought I oughtto tell you, sir," confusedly concluded the small lad.
"You young runt, I'll half kill you if I catch you alone!" breathedJack, under his breath, as the lad sped off to join his companions.
"Of course, you are not going to pay any attention to that kid's--Imean boy's--story," demanded Jack, addressing the professor. "It'smade out of whole cloth, I assure you."
In the meantime the machines had been brought to the grand stand andwere being examined. Naturally, after young Digby's statement, Jack'swas one of the first to be scrutinized. The committee turned it overand over, and were about to pass on it, when Mr. Wingate, who had beenbending attentively over the bully's model, gave a sudden exclamation.
"Look here, gentlemen," he cried, pointing to a small tag which Jackhad evidently forgotten to remove, "I think this is conclusiveevidence. Here is the label of the 'Manhattan Model Works' pastedright under this wing."
"Somebody must have put it there. It's a job those Boy Scouts put upon me," protested Tack. "I made that model every bit myself."
"I regret to say that we must regard the price tag as conclusiveevidence that this machine comes from a store," said the professorsternly, handing Jack his unlucky model. "You are disqualified forentering a machine not of your own workmanship.
"Stand back, please," he went on, as Jack tried to protest. "I want tosay," he went on in a loud tone, holding up his hand to commandattention, "that there has been a grave mistake made. The machine whichactually flew the longest distance is disqualified, as it was made at aNew York model factory. The first prize of fifty dollars, therefore,goes to Paul Perkins, of the Boy Scouts, the second to Edward Rivers,of Hampton, and the third to Hiram Green, also of the Boy Scouts.
"Hold on one minute," he shouted, as the crowd began to cheer and hoot."There is an additional announcement to be made. The committee hasdecided to offer a further reward of five dollars to Thomas Maloney,whose model shows evidence of praiseworthy and painstaking work."
As the cheers broke loose once more, Jack Curtiss and his cronies slunkoff through the crowd, and having placed the rejected model in thebuggy, drove off into the country in no very amiable or enviable frameof mind.
"Well, you made a fine mess of it," grumbled Bill Bender savagely. "Itold you to look carefully and see that all the tags were off it."
"It's no more my fault than yours," grated out Jack, lashing the horsesavagely, to work off some of his rage. "It's all the fault of thoseyoung cubs of Rob Blake's. Let them look out, though, for I'll geteven with them before long, and in a way that will make them sit up andtake notice."
"Don't forget that young mischief maker, Joe Digby," suggested BillBender. "It was all his fault--the young spy!"
"Oh, I'll attend to him," Jack assured his chum, with a grating laughthat boded no good for the youngest member of the Eagle Patrol.