The aviators beat Mr. Graham, but no great exultation followed this feat. While Frank and Phil were housing the airship Mr. Graham appeared and entered the aërodrome. For fifteen minutes there were sounds of earnest conversation; then Mr. Graham and the boys came out. Frank and Phil, with sober faces, climbed into the car; Mr. Graham locked the doors of the shed; put the key in his pocket and took the driver’s seat in silence.
Each boy reached home in time for breakfast, but neither was quite as hungry as he fancied himself an hour before. Mr. Graham had had a sudden awakening as to his duties as a parent. Breakfast over and Frank in fresh clothes, he was called to accompany his father to Mrs. Ewing’s home where the two parents and the abashed aviators went into a conference.
“Then it’s understood,” said Mr. Graham at its conclusion, “that neither of you boys is to visit the airship shed, much less make another flight, without my consent. My consent, young man,” he added addressing Phil, “not your mother’s. So far as this air business is concerned, I’m now your guardian, Mr. Ewing. As for you, Frank,” he concluded, “I think you understand.”
“Thank you, Mr. Graham,” broke in Mrs. Ewing. “If Phil only knew what a night I put in he’d never think of doing such a thing again. Your lunch is ready,” she added turning to the dejected Phil, “now hurry off to the factory.”
Frank went to the office with his father prepared to take the machine home. All the way he tried to think of something to say. Finally he leaned forward and put his hand on his father’s shoulder.
“Say, pop,” he began, “why are you so put out?”
“If you knew what a night we passed you wouldn’t ask,” was the answer.
“I suppose you know we did something that has never been done before. Don’t you think it a pretty fine thing to do something that they will have to write about way over in London? Don’t you remember how pleased you were when that New York art magazine said your new Davenport bed was an inspiration?”
“That’s different,” growled Mr. Graham. “That means money.”
“No, sir,” protested Frank with a smile. “You just think so. What pleased you was the fact that you had an idea; you thought of a good thing before any of your competitors.”
“They do say it wasn’t a bad idea,” acknowledged Mr. Graham. “But this airship—”
“Is my idea,” exclaimed Frank. “It may not mean money, but I’m proud of it. Other people praise it. Why shouldn’t my father? I’d rather make one new thing of use to the world than have the highest paid job on your pay roll, if I only copy some other person’s plans.”
Mr. Graham shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ll smash the Loon to smithereens if you say so,” continued Frank, “but I hope you’ll think about it a little before you ask me to do so.”
“You needn’t do any smashin’ yet,” conceded Mr. Graham with a smile, “but—well, we’ll see.”
Frank felt sure that his airship days were not at an end. Reaching his home a little later, he found reporters for both the evening papers awaiting him. His and Phil’s safe return had already spread over town. Inexperienced, as was his father, Frank talked freely to the young journalists. The result was that one paper told how the boys, worn out with the strain of their struggle in the vortex of the hurricane, had fallen unconscious to the floor of the car and only revived when Mr. Graham found the monoplane wrecked in the field. The other account told how the Loon had risen to the height of twenty-three thousand feet, instead of twenty-three hundred, and how the aviators would certainly have frozen to death had it not been for the glass enclosed cabin. Here the reporter added a detail of his own, which was that the aviators were already planning a stove to be heated by the exhaust gases of the engine. With this, he suggested, there would be no limit to the height of future ascents.
Both papers in their last editions had pictures of the boys. So fully was the entire story told that nothing more remained to be said, and in three or four days the sensation of Frank and Phil’s flight, accident and escape, seemed at an end. But the story of the flight had traveled far, and it soon attracted attention that was to mean much to both boys.
In fact, within a week, a letter was on its way to Frank that carried them in a short time into the far West and eventually set them “Battling the Bighorn.” In the adventures that subsequently befell them among yawning chasms, and while soaring over snow clad mountain heights, even the gripping pleasure of the “dash in the dark” was forgotten.
Six days later Frank was surprised to receive a letter postmarked New York and written on the heavy stationery of the well-known sportsman’s club of that city—the “Field and Forest.” It was from his uncle, Mr. Guy Mackworth—his mother’s brother. Frank had never had a letter from his uncle, although Mr. Mackworth visited the Grahams—sometimes twice a year. Mr. Mackworth and Mr. Graham jointly maintained a trout camp on the Little Manistee, and Frank’s uncle or some of his eastern friends were pretty sure to be there in June of each year. Now and then Mr. Mackworth came out in the fall for the partridge shooting.
Frank’s uncle was an unusual man and, as can be surmised from the exclusive club he frequented (most of the members of which are big game hunters in all parts of the world), he was an assiduous sportsman. A man of extensive means and a seeker of big and rare game, he pursued his hobby in all sections of the globe.
Being a bachelor and a great traveler he had become a gourmet. Next to hunting tigers in India, lions in Africa or moose in Canada, the proper and inviting preparation of food was his chief diversion. In this he had trained Jake Green, a young colored man, until the latter was almost as skilled and fastidious as his master.
“Your uncle,” explained Mr. Graham to Frank, “makes himself as much at home in camp as he does at his club. Like a true sportsman he roughs it uncomplainingly if necessary, but by choice he prefers comfort when it can be had. His camp outfit and shooting and fishing equipment are most elaborate. Nothing that contributes to comfort, convenience or even to luxury is omitted. Yet there is nothing provided merely for show. Each thing has a reason.”
“I didn’t know he could cook,” remarked Frank a little surprised.
“Cook!” repeated Mr. Graham. “When time and circumstances permitted I’ve seen him dress his brook trout with a hollandaise sauce that few chefs could provide. And then I’ve seen him go twenty-four hours on a moose trail with nothing to eat but raw salt pork.”
This was the letter Frank received:
“My Dear Nephew:
“I want to congratulate you on breaking away from the furniture business long enough to become a hero. (Show this to your father and ask him to send me any news of the Little Manistee.) I also congratulate you on being alive after what I suspect was really a dangerous adventure. You see by this that I am in New York and that I am taking the time to read the newspapers. Not having been in the west last fall I did not know you had gone in for aërial athletics. It interests me very much. I was afraid your father might try to make a furniture designer out of you. I believe you are sixteen. That’s quite old enough to begin to show your mettle. I have an idea that I shall conceal until I hear from you on this subject. Write to me at once and tell me all about this sky-ship which you and your friend have made. I tried to understand what it was by reading the newspapers, but I couldn’t make it out. If it is really practicable I want to know all about it. Especially am I interested in the enclosed cabin. Tell your mother I have been abroad since March and shall soon have as my guests, in this country, Captain Arthur Ludington of the English Army and Lord Pelton. I had a half formed plan to give them a taste of trout fishing up on the Little Manistee; but this is no part of my letter to you. You are to write me at once about your aëroplane.
“Very sincerely yours,
“Guy Mackworth.”
When Frank showed this important communication to his father the latter laughed, pronounced it characteristic, muttered something about English swells and told the boy to do as his relative asked. As a matter of fact the practical manufacturer was reminded by the note that Frank was Mr. Mackworth’s probable heir. Frank enlisted Phil’s assistance in the composition of the asked for description and found it no easy task. It was made more difficult by the query that was always in each boy’s head: what was Mr. Mackworth’s idea concerning the monoplane?
The letter to Mr. Mackworth, after describing in detail the big adjustable plane wings and the long flat tail of the monoplane, concluded:
“The novel pilot and passenger car has what is known as a ‘stream line’ body; resembles a long cartridge and is of aluminum and glass. Instead of a skeleton seat bolted to a flimsy lattice of bamboo, the forward or cabin space—the engine occupying the rear seven feet—contains two comfortable seats. One of these is for the pilot and within reach of it are the rudder stirrups for the aviator’s feet, the wheel to regulate the planes or wings above, and the rods connecting with the engine in the rear. Behind this seat is a duplicate for a passenger, so located that the addition or omission of a second person does not disturb the center of gravity. The aluminum bottom of this compartment is a flat-bottomed boat. This is the first wholly enclosed cabin or operating space used in an aëroplane. Movable panels of aluminum and glass are inserted between the boat body and the top of the car, affording a wind, rain and cold-proof space. In the low flights these sections may be omitted. In altitude flights their principal advantage is as a protection against the intense cold. We have also planned an electric motor for heat generating coils in the cabin and it is wholly possible, as soon as we get engine power strong enough to force us into the upper atmosphere, we will carry a supply of oxygen in the air-tight glass. In this way, with sufficient warmth and oxygen, the Loon may soon break the altitude record and double the present figures.”
The letter contained many other details and was forwarded at once. The second day after it had been mailed came a telegram addressed to Frank.
“Will cabin hold four men safely? Answer, Rush. Mackworth.”
The reply was:
“Six or eight, four in comfort. Frank.”
In two more days came another letter. It was this that turned the Graham household upside down, almost drove Mrs. Ewing into a panic and threw Frank and Phil into what was little short of a delirium of joy. The surprising communication was as follows:
“My Dear Nephew:
“I am addressing this to you, but it is in reality written as much for your mother and father. I see no reason why the idea cannot be carried out. That is, I see no good reason although I suppose your parents will find a number of objections. It will be my business in a few days to debate those reasons in person, if they are presented, for I shall be in Grand Rapids within a week.
“It is my plan to utilize you and your chum and the monoplane on a hunting expedition. My English friends have arrived and I find they are set on an expedition after the rare Rocky Mountain sheep—the Bighorn. You know, I presume, how these animals are usually hunted. In the valleys and canyons, beneath their craggy haunts, hunters crawl from day to day, armed with binoculars, searching each rocky height, point and crag for some sign of the animal. If they are fortunate enough to get a glimpse of one, they then begin the real work of trailing it up the mountain sides, stalking the wary beast until on some almost unscalable bench or summit they can get a shot. That is what we used to do. Modern ideas, I have decided, make this method obsolete. You, your chum, my two friends and I are going to carry the Loon into the mountains and hunt the Bighorn with the airship. Prepare to dismount your machine, make cases for its parts and, after my talk with your parents, we’ll be off for the west. Tell your father to let you have what money you need and charge it to me. And, of course, if you have any ideas of changes to be made—any additions that will improve the monoplane for the work I’ve planned—don’t hesitate to make them. Spare no expense to help me give my friends a successful trip. Don’t bother about provisions or equipment as Jake will be with us and see to them. Sam Skinner, one of my old guides, will also be with us.
“Your uncle,
“Guy Mackworth.”