Dave Dashaway the Young Aviator: or, In the Clouds for Fame and Fortune

CHAPTER XII
A NEW FRIEND

“Why, who are you?” exclaimed Mr. King.

Dave stood somewhat awed at being in the presence of the famous aeronaut for the first time. He was embarrassed at his own boldness. Yet he managed to blurt out:

“I have been trying to get to you for two days.”

Mr. King stared at Dave in a wondering way. He looked him over from head to foot. Dave was not disappointed in the impression made upon him by the aviator. Mr. King was a man with a keen, clean-cut face and well-knit frame. There was a look of decision and business in his clear eye. As he smiled, there was also a genial, indulgent expression to his lips that won Dave.

“Oh, I think I understand,” spoke Mr. King slowly. “I suppose you are another applicant for a job. Heard I’d fired my assistant and all that. I didn’t think that news had traveled so fast and far.”

“Why, no, sir,” said Dave quickly. “I knew nothing about what you speak of until a few minutes ago.”

“Then – ”

“I have been seeking you to find out if you lost some property out of an airship near Brookville, about sixty miles from here, three nights ago.”

“Eh, what’s that?” cried the airman, starting up into an attitude of attention and surprise.

“There was a sweater,” continued Dave, “and a pocket book with fifty dollars in it, and a watch and a medal.”

“What about it – what about it?” demanded Mr. King quite excitedly. “The medal, I mean. The rest of the stuff doesn’t matter.”

“Did you lose what I said, sir?” asked Dave.

“Yes, yes!”

“Near Brookville?”

“I sailed over Brookville the night you tell about,” replied the airman. “I missed the sweater that I had rolled my valuables in just as I got back here. Of course I didn’t know exactly where I lost it.”

“Well,” said Dave, “I found it – ”

“Good!”

“I started to bring it to you, for I saw your name on the medal, and had heard all about you.”

“Then you’ve got the medal, have you?” asked Mr. King eagerly and expectantly, starting up from his chair.

“I am sorry to say I haven’t, Mr. King,” replied Dave regretfully. “I started for here to return the property to you and lost it.”

“Lost it?”

“That is, I was robbed.”

“By whom?”

“A boy in a lodging house where I stayed night before last.”

“But you know the thief?”

“Only by description,” replied Dave.

“Why didn’t you inform the police?”

Dave paled slightly, and then flushed up. The airman was eyeing him keenly. The old inventor looked suspicious, too.

“Mr. King,” at length spoke Dave, “I am a runaway from home.”

“Hum!” commented Mr. Dixon dryly.

“I had to run away from home,” continued Dave desperately. “It’s a long story. There’s a heap to tell, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t interest you, sir. When I found myself robbed, I thought the best thing to do was to come and tell you all I could. I’m awfully sorry I was so careless.”

“See here,” interrupted Mr. King, in a generous way, placing a reassuring hand on Dave’s shoulder, “don’t say that again. You’ve done all you could, and I thank you for it. Mr. Dixon,” he went on, glancing at his watch, “I am going to have a mighty busy morning, and I want you to excuse me for a while.”

“All right,” nodded the inventor, though rather glumly, arising to his feet.

“I’ll be around the field all day, and be glad to see you and talk to you about trying your invention any time after noon.”

“Oh, that’s good,” bowed Mr. Dixon, brightening up. Then he fixed his eye on Dave, and said: “I believe this young man made some remark about helping us out, when he first appeared on the scene.”

“Say, you’re a regular old ogre, Dixon!” railed the airman. “You look as hungry as one, wanting to make this lad your first victim. I shan’t recommend anybody, nor furnish anybody to try your parachute dress, until I am perfectly satisfied he won’t come to any harm.”

“When you do, Mr. King,” broke in Dave, “I’d like a chance to show my confidence in you by trying the umbrella suit.”

“All right. I’m to see you after dinner,” said the old inventor leaving the room.

“Now then, my lad,” spoke the aviator briskly, “sit down. I want to talk to you.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Dave gladly.

“I want you to tell me your whole story. I have an idea it is going to interest me. First, your name?”

“It’s Dave Dashaway.”

“Dashaway?” repeated Mr. King, with a slight start and a look in his eyes as though he was searching his memory.

“Yes, sir, my father was a professional balloonist. Maybe you have heard of him.”

“Heard of him!” cried the aviator, with new interest. “I should say I have. And read of him. Why, he was a pioneer in advanced aeronautics. And you are his son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me all about it.”

Dave looked into the kindly, sympathetic eyes of his new acquaintance feeling sure that he had found a true friend. He told the story of his life simply. As he tried to make it brief, his auditor more than once checked him as if every detail interested him.

“You are a brave, deserving young fellow, Dashaway,” said the airman heartily. “I have you to thank for putting me on the track of that lost medal, which I value beyond price.”

“Do you think there is any chance of your getting it back?” inquired Dave anxiously.

“I am sure of it. I want you to come with me down to the field office. In the meantime think up the closest description possible of the fellow who stole it. Here,” added the airman pointing to a little writing table. “Just sit down there and jot it down as clear and brief as you can.”

Dave did as directed, while Mr. King explained:

“The thief won’t value the medal. He will probably sell that and the watch for what they are worth as gold. I intend to telegraph to the police at Brompton to keep an eye out for the thief and to offer a reward for the medal.”

Mr. King bustled about the room, and put on another coat and took some papers from a satchel, and acted as if about to start out on business.

“Why, I was just going to the hotel to see you,” he said suddenly, as a newcomer appeared on the scene. “Ready for business?”

“Oh, yes,” was the prompt reply, and the latest visitor stepped into the room where Dave sat. “Why, hello – friend of yours, Mr. King?”

“What, do you know young Dashaway?”

“Very pleasantly, too,” answered Mr. Alden, the manager of the moving picture outfit, for Dave recognized him at once as that person. “He helped us out of a tight box yesterday.”

“You didn’t tell me about that, Dashaway,” remarked the aviator.

“There was so much else to tell,” explained Dave.

“Well,” proceeded the motion picture man, “I’ve been thinking of you, my lad. How would you like to work for me right along?”

“What’s that?” broke in Mr. King, in his quick, jerky way. “No, you can’t have him.”

“Eh?” questioned Alden, with a stare, “why not?”

“Because I’m thinking of hiring him myself,” replied the aviator.

CHAPTER XIII
A START IN BUSINESS

Dave Dashaway trembled with excitement and pleasure. He was proud and glad the way things had turned out. The aviator noticed the happy look on his face, and nodded encouragingly.

“All right,” spoke Mr. Alden. “I see you’ve got first show. Trouble is, our man we depended on, a fellow named Banks, failed us yesterday, and I guess he won’t show up in time for the airship pictures. He is the only one in our crowd who will do what we call the desperate stunts.”

“What do you call those?” inquired the airman.

“Oh, Banks is a regular acrobat. He’s the man who falls down stairs and gets knocked around in the funny pictures, and jumps from the seaside cliff or is blown up by dynamite in the tragic ones.”

“I see.”

“Now, like yesterday. The hero had to rescue the drowning heroine in the roaring mill stream. Our young friend here happened along in the nick of time, and did the stunt nobly. None of the rest of the crowd could even swim – this young fellow can, like a fish.”

“And now you expect him to fly?”

“Hardly that,” was the laughing rejoinder, “but in your exhibition we want to bring in the usual little incidents to make an interesting story, you know, and Getaway here – ”

“You mean Dashaway.”

“Yes, he could work in famously.”

“Well, we will see about it,” said Mr. King. “How would you want to begin the pictures?”

“The outfit will be here inside of an hour.”

“I will be on hand,” promised the aviator. “Come with me, Dashaway. I want to get that telegram to the city.”

Dave felt as if he was treading on air. It was in fact the supreme moment of his young life. He did not feel that he had done any grand things, but telling the truth and doing his level best had put him in line with very promising prospects.

Mr. King hurried along with his brisk, bustling way, absorbed in the business on his mind. When they reached the office of the grounds, he beckoned Dave to follow him into the little compartment that answered for a telegraph office.

“Give me the description you wrote out,” he said. “Good for you, Dashaway,” he added with satisfaction, as he ran his eye over the words Dave had written. “You cover it well. With that tell-tale scar on his face, I think the young rascal who robbed you will be easy to find. All I care for, though, is the medal. He will probably sell that and the watch to some pawnbroker, and a liberal reward will lead the police to find them for me.”

“My losing those things is going to cost you a lot of money, Mr. King,” said Dave regretfully.

“And suppose that sweater of mine had been found by some dishonest person, or trampled down out of sight in the mud? No, no, Dashaway, I count it a big thing, you’re giving me my first hope of recovering the medal.”

Mr. King wrote out a lengthy telegram, ordering it sent, left some instructions with the operator, and went outside again.

Here he was immediately surrounded by half a dozen persons. Among them were newspaper reporters seeking information as to the aviator’s plans for the next coming aero meet at Dayton. Professional airmen wanted to discuss the programme ahead. Some agents with airship supplies took up some of his time. It was half an hour before Mr. King got rid of his company. Then he came up to Dave, his watch in his hand.

“See here, Dashaway,” he spoke, “I want to ask you a question.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Dave attentively.

“Do you want to go to work for me?”

“Do I! – ” faltered Dave. “It’s been my dream ever since I heard of you.”

“Good enough. You’re engaged. Go down to the hangars and wait till I come. Hold on,” halting Dave, as he started to obey orders. “I want to say a word. I call it all opportunity, the queer way you have run into my affairs. I like your make up. The last assistant I had played me mean. He’ll lose by it. I’m willing to do a good deal for a fellow who will be loyal to his business. I put big faith in you. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Say,” began Dave in a great gulp, and he could not bring the words out, he was so worked up.

“I know what you would say,” spoke the airman quickly. “Never feel any different about it than you do at this moment, and there will be no regrets.”

“There’s only one thing troubles me, Mr. King,” observed Dave.

“What’s that?”

“My guardian. I ran away from home.”

“Good for you. From what you tell me, that miserly old rascal, Warner, won’t waste any time or money hunting you up. If he does, I think I know how to handle him.”

Dave started down the field so filled with joy that he could have shouted out aloud. Up to this time his mind had been so occupied with affairs outside of airships, that he had found no opportunity to view those he had seen in detail. Now he seemed to be a part of the great unique activity surrounding him on every side.

“It’s wonderful, it’s grand!” he mused. “Oh, to think of my luck! And the friends I’ve met with!”

Dave’s eyes filled with grateful tears. He felt as if suddenly he had found his right place in life and a real home. The thought that he was to see, survey and perhaps handle a real airship thrilled him with gladness.

“It will be like getting into some palace of wonders,” he reflected, “and the grand chance to learn from the star man of them all, Mr. King.”

Dave hurried by many a group surrounding aeroplane models that would have halted him usually. He was anxious to get to the hangars. He had not yet examined the crack monoplane belonging to his employer. He knew its name, the Aegis, and had got a mere glimpse at its outlines. Now he was free to look it all over.

“Hold on there!”

To make a short cut to the hangars, Dave had passed between a part of the grandstand and a building where refreshments had been sold during full attendance at the meet. There were not many people around just there, and this short cut took Dave into a still more lonely space.

Some one had come up behind him, butted into him forcibly, and sent him up against a wooden platform.

“I want to speak to you,” sounded a voice strange to Dave.

“You’ve got a nice way of introducing yourself,” began Dave, turning around with some asperity. “Hello, I know you.”

“Do? Then there’s no need of any explanations,” jeered his assailant.

Dave recognized the latter instantly. It was Jerry Dawson, the boy whose father had visited Mr. King less than two hours previously. Dave had seen this youth only once before. It had been at a distance, too. He knew that sullen, scowling face, however, at once.

The boy was taller and older than Dave. He was stockily built, and strong. He stood with his fists raised, blocking Dave in against the platform.

“What do you want?” demanded the latter.

“I want to ask you a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Have you gone to work for King?”

“What if I have?”

“Then you’ve landed in the wrong box, I can tell you that. I’ll stand no fellow cutting in on my rights.”

“What do you call your rights?” inquired Dave calmly.

“I’ve worked for King ever since the season began. I’ve slaved for him and helped him get the endurance prize.”

“Indeed?” remarked Dave trying to suppress a smile.

“Now he’s in a muff. He knows he can’t get along without me, but he’s stubborn, and so am I. You leave him alone, and don’t cut in on my job, or I’ll make it warm for you.”

“What do you expect I’m going to do?” inquired Dave.

“Has King hired you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re going to start in with him?”

“I am.”

“After what I tell you?”

“Yes, that won’t make any difference,” said Dave.

“Then I’m going to whip you.”

“All right.”

“You won’t take a warning.”

“Not from you.”

“Look out!”

Dave determined to defend himself. He was no match for the big overgrown bully, but he was cornered, and it was not in his nature to show the white feather on any occasion.

“You’re bigger than I,” said Dave, backing to a firmer footing, “but I won’t let you or anybody else browbeat me without cause.”

“And I’m bigger than either of you!” roared an intruding voice. “You young bully, make yourself scarce, or I’ll pick you up by the nape of your neck and drop you into that mud puddle over yonder!”

CHAPTER XIV
HIS FIRST AIRSHIP RIDE

Dave recognized the newcomer on the scene as Hiram Dobbs, his companion during his first visit to the hangars. The latter had appeared like magic through a near open doorway of the temporary restaurant building.

Hiram had said he was bigger than Jerry Dawson. He now proved that he was also stronger. He grasped the surprised bully by the arm, gave him a swing, and sent him slamming up against the side of the nearest building.

“Get out of here,” he ordered, “or I’ll run you out.”

The discomfited bully scowled frightfully at Dave’s champion. He made a move to seize a brick and hurl it. Then he changed his mind as Hiram started on a run for him.

“There’s a bully for you,” announced the country boy, stooping to pick up a little box he had placed on the ground when he ran to Dave’s rescue. “Good thing I just happened around.”

“Yes, he acted pretty vicious,” replied Dave. “He’s mad because he’s lost his place, and wants to scare me off from taking it.”

“Don’t you let him do it.”

“I won’t.”

“So you got a job with Mr. King?” questioned Hiram, his face lengthening a trifle.

“Yes,” answered Dave. “You see – ”

“You’re smarter than me? yes. A blind owl could see that. And I’m right glad of it,” added Hiram heartily. “Some day I’ll hit it just as lucky. Oh, say,” and Hiram grinned drolly. “You tell Mr. King that I know what a biplane is now.”

“Do you, indeed?”

“Yes, and the difference between a pylon and aileron. And a lot of other things. And I’m going to learn a heap more,” declared Hiram confidently.

“Then you’ve begun your education already, have you?”

“The man Mr. King sent me to hired me right on the spot. There isn’t much to do here, but I’m to go with his crew to Dayton, and so all around the circuit. Six dollars a week, and keep and commission.”

“What doing?”

“Helping in the restaurant and peddling novelties. I can’t be idle, so I’m trying to start an honest penny rolling among the stragglers around the grounds,” and Hiram tapped the box under his arm.

“What have you got there?” inquired Dave.

“Souvenirs,” explained Hiram, opening the cover of the box and displaying a lot of pins and buttons bearing or stamped with miniature airships.

“You’ll do,” declared Dave heartily, “and thank you for sending that Dawson fellow about his business.”

“All right, and you look out for him. He’ll do you some mischief if he can.”

Dave went on his way with a word of good cheer to Hiram. He felt that they were bound soon to meet again, and prized the manly qualities of this new acquaintance. As he neared the hangars two automobiles flashed past him.

“Hello!” cried Dave, “in that first one is my friend Dollinger, with the camera man and his traps. Mr. Alden’s group are in the second machine.”

Dave reached Mr. King’s quarters to find the second automobile halted there. The other one, guided by Dollinger, he noticed had driven over to a clear stretch at the far end of the grounds.

“Motion pictures, of course,” thought Dave, and just then the man who had acted the Indian in the motion scene of the day previous recognized him.

“Hello,” he hailed. “You’re on time. Going to help us out to-day?”

“I don’t know. I hope so,” replied Dave, and he returned the friendly nods of the lady and others of the party.

“We’re waiting for Mr. Alden,” explained the man who had first spoken to Dave.

“I think he expects to be here soon, with Mr. King,” said Dave. Then he moved around to the part of the building where the airship was housed as he saw a man in overalls pottering about the open doors.

“Saw you with Mr. King,” said the man as Dave came up. “Going to work for him?”

“I think so,” answered Dave.

“Well, you look a likely one. Seen much of airships?”

“Almost nothing, until this morning,” replied Dave.

“Well, I’ll show you the last word in aerial construction when I introduce you to the Aegis,” said the man. “Here, I’ll give you a look at the beauty.”

Dave moved as gingerly about the machine as if it were made of porcelain. His companion pointed out the main features of the splendid piece of mechanism.

Dave heaved a great sigh as he came out from the exhibition. He was fairly fascinated with what he had seen and what had been explained to him.

Mr. King and the motion picture manager came up a minute later. They talked together. Then Mr. King got into the automobile with the others.

“All oiled up and ready, Mason?” he called out to the caretaker of the hangars.

“All ready, Mr. King.”

“Then run her down to where you see that automobile. Dashaway will give you some help.”

“It seems just like a dream, all this,” ruminated Dave, as he assisted Mason in propelling the monoplane down the course.

The sky was clear, with a moderate breeze, the day cool and bright. For the time, Dave forgot all the past, and a rare golden future seemed spreading out before him.

Soon the Aegis was in place where the aviator wanted it. Dave listened with interest to the talk of the motion picture man. He soon understood that they were to take a series of pictures bringing in something of a story.

“We will work in all our interiors at our city studio,” explained the manager. “What we want to do here first, is to picture out – here it is,” and the speaker read over his scenario – “‘scene in prison yard. Convict at the rock pile.’”

“That’s me,” announced the man who had acted the hunter’s part the day before.

“Get in trim, then,” ordered the manager.

The actor went behind one of the automobiles where there was a large wardrobe trunk. In a minute or two he reappeared arrayed as the typical convict.

The camera man had produced from his properties various needed articles. When the convict was posed, he sat with a hammer in his hand breaking stones on a rock heap.

“Miss Mowbeay,” spoke the manager. “‘Veiled lady in black.’”

“All ready.”

“‘Visit of the Convict’s Wife.’”

Wher – rr – r! went the camera, and the actress advanced to where the convict was at work. A prison guard kept near her. At the end of the interview the wife secretly dropped a folded note on the stone heap.

“We are ready for you, Mr. King,” next spoke the motion picture man. “Flight of the Airship.”

“What do you want me to do?” asked Mr. King, going up to his machine.

“Oh, about five minutes thrilling stunts. Then I want you to swoop down near the convict. You drop him a rope – ”

“Hold on, I don’t,” cried the aviator.

“Can’t work out our plot unless you do,” declared the motion picture man.

“Say,” inquired Mr. King with a smile, “was you ever up in a monoplane?”

“Well – no.”

“Try it once, with eye, hands and mind set on dodging a single quirk that may send you diving like an arrow, and you will understand that I can’t run my machine and drop a rope at the same time.”

“Well, the best part of the scenario is where the convict is told by the note left by his wife to look out for the rescue. As I said, you was to swoop near him, drop the rope.”

“What does the convict do then?” questioned the aviator, with an amused smile.

“He grabs the rope, up he goes, and bang! bang! go the rifles of the guards.”

“See here, Mr. Alden,” objected the airman, “do you know how long that convict would hold on to that rope?”

“He don’t hold on six feet. Just clutches it for an instant. Only enough to take the act of rising. Then we shut off the camera. We finish up his dashing against chimneys, flag poles and the clouds with a dummy in our studio.”

“I see,” nodded Mr. King, enlightened. “About dropping that rope, though, some one will have to assist me. Let one of your men go up with me.”

Just here the hunter man sneaked behind the automobile. The Indian actor got very busy donning the garb of a prison guard.

“They don’t seem to want to try it,” laughed Mr. King.

“Would I do?” asked Dave, promptly stepping forward.

“The very thing,” exclaimed the motion picture man.

“Not afraid, Dashaway?” asked Mr. King.

“Afraid? With you? I’d be the happiest boy in the world,” declared Dave.

“All right – get aboard,” directed the aviator.

“Here’s your rope,” added the motion picture man. “I’ll signal with a flag when I want you to make the swoop, Mr King.”

The airman pointed to a seat directly behind his own. Nimbly Dave clambered over the wing and gearing and began his first ride in an airship.