Joe Strong and his wings of steel or, A young acrobat in the clouds
“I’ll have it over in the morning,” promised Joe. Then he went back
to his own quarters in the circus tent to work over the _Bat_. He had
an extra set of gear wheels and torsion rods which gave greater speed
than the ones he had been using, and these he put in, with the help
of some of the circus mechanics. Then the storage battery was charged
to its limit, and the boy himself carefully oiled every bearing.
“Now we’ll see what happens,” he said, as he went to bed at a late
hour to get some much-needed rest.
There was considerable activity the next day both on the circus
grounds and in the aviation enclosure. For word of what Joe intended
to attempt had gone around, and there was much interest manifested.
The aviators were “grooming” their machines in readiness for the
race, and on all sides could be heard the popping of the powerful
engines.
The _Bat_ was taken over for the official handicap test, and to Joe’s
delight he was given the longest time allowance of any of the racers.
This meant that Joe would be allowed to start off ahead of any of
the others, who would follow at indicated intervals. And this was
perfectly fair, just as it is fair to allow a small boy to start
ahead of a big boy in a race. It evened matters up.
A great crowd was on hand early in the morning, for the aviation meet
had been well advertised, and the race was a special attraction.
“It’s lucky they had it in the morning instead of the afternoon,”
remarked Jim Tracy, as he watched the throngs surging around the
hangars and scattering over the grounds, “else we wouldn’t have a
handful of people in our tent. But if Joe brings home the prize, and
even if he doesn’t, we may get enough advertising out of it to pull
us up even.”
“I hope so,” said Joe.
He was getting ready for the race, and to make it more spectacular
he had donned the white shimmering suit he wore when riding his
motor-cycle across the high wire. This showed him off to advantage
inside the framework where he had to take his place to operate and
steer his queer machine.
The course was three times around the aviation grounds, the
termination being in front of the grandstand. Already some of the
aviators were practising, flying around to “tune up” their engines.
Joe decided he would not do this, as his power in the storage battery
was a constantly lessening one, and he could not afford to waste any
of the current. He knew pretty well what the _Bat_ could do, and his
motive power, unlike that of the others, was positive and certain as
long as a volt or ampere remained in the battery. A gasoline engine
is so complicated that it needs constant attention and care.
Larger and larger crowds assembled to witness the race, and while
the grandstand, as well as the less expensive seats, was well filled
there was also a vast throng outside the grounds.
“If we only had them in our tent!” exclaimed Jim Tracy.
“Maybe we’ll get them there this afternoon,” said Joe.
It was almost time for the race to begin. Joe’s machine was taken
to the starting line and he got inside. The officials were waiting,
watches in hand.
“Go!” came the sudden order, and Joe turned on the power.
Once again the big wings vibrated up and down, fanning the air with
ever-increasing power. Then, amid a cry from the crowd, the _Bat_
rose quickly upward and shot off around the course.
Joe decided to go upward until he found a favorable current of air.
He wanted a place where the wind did not blow at all, if such were
possible to find, for, as the course was circular, if he got into a
wind stratum he would be helped half way around, and then hindered as
much in the other half.
At about a thousand feet elevation the boy found what he wanted, and
then he set off on a straight course, having risen at an angle. He
was going quite fast, but still had some power in reserve.
A noise behind him, like the firing of a dozen rifles, told Joe his
first competitor was coming after him, but he could not turn around
to look back.
“I’ve just got to keep on flying and trust to luck,” he told himself.
For his machine was so built that only by a great effort could he
turn around in it. “The next one I make will have more room,” Joe
decided.
On and on the lad went. He could hear the explosions of more aircraft
engines now.
“I guess the last of ’em must be off now,” Joe reflected. “They are
the speediest of the lot. Still they may have an accident, and while
I don’t wish any one bad luck I do hope I win this race.”
As may be guessed, accidents are very likely to happen to aeroplanes,
though the machines are much safer and more reliable than in former
years. The accident of which Joe thought was the stoppage of the
engine. Once this occurs, it is necessary for the aviator to descend
to the ground and start again. He glides, or volplanes, to the earth,
with very little risk, and has a mechanician whirl his propellers
until the stalled engine starts again.
There are very few aeroplanes with self-starters that can be put in
operation from the aviator’s seat. The makers are coming to this very
necessary feature, however.
Joe Strong knew that if some of the speediest, and therefore largest
and most complicated, machines should have a stalled engine, his
chances would be improved. It was all in the sporting chance. An
accident might happen to the wings of steel as well.
Once around the course went Joe, the others following him. Down
below, the big crowd, including many circus folk, were cheering like
mad, for it was a thrilling and exciting sight.
“Well, I’m ahead yet,” said the young circus performer to himself, as
he glanced out of the side of his cage and saw none of the others in
line with him. “If I can keep it up for two rounds more I’ll be all
right. But the worst is yet to come.”
Half way on the second round Joe heard a noise gradually drawing
nearer to him. Then he had a glimpse of an aeroplane that was
overtaking him.
“I guess it’s all up,” the boy mused. Still he was doing his best,
and he had the satisfaction of knowing that either way it would be a
big drawing card for the circus.
Slowly the other air machine nosed its way ahead of Joe. There were
other machines behind the circus airman and his nearest competitor,
but they did not seem to be able to cut down Joe’s lead sufficiently
to pass him.
“Well, now comes the test,” the lad said grimly, as he swung into
the “home stretch.” He gradually turned on the reserve power he had
been saving, and saw that he was creeping slowly up. Then to his joy,
though with it was mingled a feeling of regret for the other man, he
saw that the aeroplane was losing speed. The explosions did not come
so regularly.
“His engine is missing!” thought Joe. “I’ve got a chance!”
There was a click as he threw the switch over as far as it would go
and shot forward at increased speed. As he did this, he noted the
lack of sound from the rival machine and knew that the engine had
gone dead. The aviator began to volplane down.
Then, amid the wild cheers of the crowd, Joe flew on and on, until he
shot over the finish line--a winner!
CHAPTER XVII
THE OLD INVENTOR
“Joe Strong wins!”
It was the voice of the race-judge announcing that fact--a fact
which every spectator could see for himself, for the aviator in the
monoplane which had come so near to beating our hero had come to
earth some distance from the finish line. And those behind Joe did
not cross until after he had done so.
“Well, I did the trick,” thought Joe, as he came down to the ground,
and released himself from the inner cage. “But it was a close squeak.
Now we’ll see what good it does the circus.”
The fact that Joe had won because of the disablement of one of his
competitors’ machines did not in the least detract from his victory.
Every race, or contest, is won either through the superiority of one
man or machine over another, or because of some failure, slip or
weakness on the part of the loser.
“Great work, Joe! Great work!” cried Benny Turton, rushing up to
shake hands with his chum.
“That’s just what it was!” chimed in Jim Tracy.
Others were crowding around Joe, endeavoring to shake his hand. Most
of them were strangers to him, but among them were some of his circus
friends and the other aviators.
“Allow me to congratulate you!” exclaimed the judge of the race,
and he, also, shook hands with the boy. “Your time for the three
rounds of the course was twenty-seven minutes, eight and three-fifth
seconds, which is very good, considering the type of machine you
used.”
“Thank you,” responded Joe. “I don’t recommend my machine for speed.
I got it up for the novelty of it, as novelty is what is wanted in a
circus.”
“I see,” remarked the judge. “Now if you will come over to the stand
I’ll give you the cup and prize money.”
After giving some of the circus attendants instructions about caring
for the _Bat_, Joe Strong made his way through the throng. He would
soon have to use the wings of steel in the circus, and the batteries
needed recharging.
“Well, you beat me fairly and squarely, friend,” said the man who had
been forced to come down in his monoplane.
“I’m glad you think so,” the circus lad responded. “I’m sorry your
engine went back on you. Only for that you’d have come in first.”
“Oh, it’s all in the game. I’ll beat you next time.”
“There isn’t going to be any next time for me--not in the style
of air craft I’ve been using,” said our hero. “It isn’t built for
racing, I can see that. I did it for the advertisement it would give
our show.”
“Well, it’s a good one. I’m coming in myself to see you to-night, for
I don’t fly after dark. I don’t care for it.”
“I’ll be glad to see you,” responded Joe.
A little later, with the prize money and cup in his possession, Joe
and his circus friends went back to the circus grounds, there being
no parade that day. The prize cup was put on exhibition, and the
press agent of the show saw to it that a good notice of Joe’s success
was sent to the papers.
“It’s the best advertisement of the show we’ve had in a long while,”
the press agent said, clapping the winner of the air race on the
back. “I wish you could do something like that every day.”
“That would be a little too much,” Joe replied. “But I’ll do the best
I can.”
Joe’s feat in winning the aviation prize had just the effect he and
the others of the circus had hoped for. It brought crowds to the
show that afternoon, so that every seat was filled, and hundreds had
to be turned away. And this in spite of the fact that there was an
exhibition on the aviation grounds at the same time.
“I don’t wish them any bad luck!” exclaimed Jim Tracy, “but that is
what I like to see,” and he motioned toward the crowd in the tent,
and nodded over toward the place where the aviators were flying
before a very small attendance. “And turning them away is a good
sign. They’ll come back to-night--and others too I hope.”
This hope was also realized, for another record-breaking crowd
assembled for the evening performance.
“We’ll make up what we lost by staying here another day,” said Mr.
Sampson. “Things begin to look brighter.”
Every one felt much better. Perhaps Joe best of all, for it had been
permitted him to bring about the good luck.
The fact seemed to be that the public wanted to see a person in an
air craft at close range, which they could do in Joe’s case as he
flew slowly over their heads.
A biplane or monoplane moves so swiftly that it is soon beyond the
range of the spectators, and only appears like a speck in the sky.
But Joe, though he could go high when he wished, remained near the
earth, thus enabling every one in the circus tents to see how his