Joe Strong and his wings of steel or, A young acrobat in the clouds
machine was operated and how he steered it. This, perhaps, was the
reason why such crowds came to the circus after Joe had advertised
himself by winning the aviation prize.
The third day of the circus in Rockport was also marked by a
record-breaking attendance, and there was jubilation among the
partners. They would have stayed another two days, which would have
marked the end of the aviation meet, and which would have insured
them more patrons, but they had other dates to fill, so they moved on.
Not, however, before several of the aviators had called on Joe to
examine more closely the _Bat_. All of them agreed that it was
a clever piece of work, but they said, with Joe, that for quick
work kept up for a long distance, it was not to be compared with a
monoplane or a biplane.
“Its chief value,” said the man who had so nearly beaten Joe, “is
its smallness. It would be great in war, I think, for an army could
carry several of these small machines, and a man could go up, take an
observation, and come back with much less trouble than in one of the
big machines we have.”
“Well, I don’t fancy going to war,” laughed Joe.
Once more the big show moved on, and the “hoo-doo” which seemed
to have fallen on the finances appeared to be broken. For after
the performances in Rockport the circus played to good business in
several cities in succession. Joe, Benny Turton, Helen, with her
horse, Rosebud, Bill Watson, and one or two others were the “stars”
of the circus, and its chief attractions.
Joe, as may well be imagined, was almost a show in himself. He
rode his motor-cycle across the high wire, giving an exhibition in
marksmanship that was very difficult, for he had to steer his machine
with his knees as he shot the pistols at the glass balls or toy
balloons. Then, having thrilled the crowds in that fashion, he got
inside the _Bat_ and circled about the tent. And once again in this
part of his work Joe introduced something new.
Helen saw him outside his dressing room one day, inside the main
dressing tent, juggling with a number of red balls.
“What are you doing, Joe?” she asked. “You’re not going back to your
sleight-of-hand work, are you?”
“Not exactly,” he answered. “But I don’t want to get rusty, and I’m
practising so I can do this when I’m flying in the _Bat_. I think it
will make the act a little livelier.”
“I think it would if you dropped them on the heads of persons in the
audience,” Helen said with a laugh.
“That’s why I’m practising--so I won’t drop them,” Joe replied.
“Anyhow, they’re so light they wouldn’t hurt much, but I don’t want
to do any ragged juggling like that. Hence the practice,” and he
went on tossing the balls up in the air, skillfully catching them,
sometimes using one hand and sometimes two.
After considerable practice, the youth felt that he had gotten back
enough of his former skill to try juggling while he was flying. He
did not succeed very well when he first practised with the machine in
an empty tent. But he kept at it and at last announced he was ready
to put on a new act.
“Good!” exclaimed the ring-master. “Go to it, Joe!”
Joe did. And that day, while flying about the tent over the heads of
the audience, the young airman tossed up the red balls and caught
them, keeping them circulating in the air.
It was simple enough in itself, but when it is remembered that Joe
had to give considerable attention to the steering of his machine--up
and down as well as sideways--and look after the controlling of the
motors, varying the vibration of the wings in making turns, and do
this while using his hands for juggling, it will be seen that it was
not quite easy. The young experimenter had been obliged to make a
little different arrangement in the mechanism to enable him to use
his hands freely.
Joe’s variation of his flying act acted as a new stimulus to the
applause of the crowd, and he received so many “hands,” as this sort
of appreciation is called, that some of the other performers were
more jealous of him than ever. But that was only natural.
In addition to all this Joe did an act with Benny in the tank, using
the same plan that he had found so laughable--that of the rustic
pretending to catch the seal and falling in. This never failed to
bring forth a laugh.
Joe’s fame spread, especially after his winning of the aviation
prize, and one day he received a letter from a rival circus, making
him an offer of a high salary if he would transfer his work to their
tents. The offer was a good one, the salary being much larger than
the one Joe was then getting.
“Well, I would like the extra money,” he mused, “especially as I
don’t seem to be going to get mine from England. But I must play
square with my friends. I can’t desert them now.”
Joe was going to say nothing of the offer to Jim Tracy or Mr.
Sampson, for he did not think they could afford to increase his
salary, and he did not want to cause them worry, as they had been
very good to him.
But he spoke of the matter to Helen, and, she, saying nothing to Joe
about it, privately informed the ring-master.
“Joe is entitled to get all he can,” she said, “but he doesn’t want
to tell you about the offer for fear you will think he is trying to
force you to raise his salary.”
“I’m glad you told me,” said Jim Tracy. “Your idea is right--a
performer is entitled to all he can get. Nor do I blame the other
circus for trying to get Joe. But we’re not going to let him go. I’ll
have a talk with him.”
Joe was surprised when the ring-master spoke of the letter.
“I wasn’t going to say anything about it,” said Joe.
“I know you weren’t, and I appreciate your motive. But I found out.
And I want to say, Joe, that I have taken up the matter with the
other owners, and we have decided not to raise your salary.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t expect you to,” and Joe wondered at the smile on
Jim’s face.
“No, we’re not going to raise your salary, but we’re going to do
something better. We are going to give you an interest in the show,
and if we keep on doing as good business as we have the last few
weeks, and if you continue to draw, as I know you will, you’ll have a
larger salary than even the other people offered.”
Joe was so surprised that he hardly knew what to say, but he managed
to stammer his thanks. A few days later legal steps were taken that
made him one of the Sampson Brothers’ partners.
“Oh, Joe, I’m so glad!” Helen exclaimed, her eyes shining.
“So am I!” he answered. “Was it you who told about the offer from the
other circus?”
“How’d you guess?” she laughed, and blushed.
“It wasn’t very hard, seeing that you were the only one I told,” Joe
replied.
It was about a week after this that, as Joe was resting after the
afternoon performance, a messenger came to him, saying:
“There’s an elderly man outside asking for you. Shall I show him in?”
“What’s his name?”
“He said he didn’t want to give it except to you.”
Joe thought for a moment.
“It may be some word from my English estate,” he mused. “I’ll see the
man,” he told the messenger.
An aged man, with gray hair, a bushy beard, and queer, sharp, darting
eyes came shuffling in.
“Are you the young fellow who made the flying machine, and sails in
it?” he asked. The lad thought he had to deal with a curiosity-seeker
and was sorry he had let him in.
“Yes, I made the _Bat_,” Joe answered. “I’m sorry that I have no time
now to----”
“Hush!” exclaimed the old man. “Can any one hear what we say? It
must be kept secret. Listen! I am an inventor, and I have discovered
something that will be of great value if put on your apparatus. May I
tell you about it?”
CHAPTER XVIII
A PRISONER
Joe at first thought he had to deal with a dangerous crank, for the
old man had a queer manner. The circus performer was about to call
for some of the sturdy canvasmen to put him out, but the visitor
seemed to read what was in the lad’s mind, for he quickly said:
“Now don’t be rash, young man. I came here at great personal
inconvenience to do you a favor, so don’t turn me away. I am not
asking for any of your money. I have more than I need, which may seem
strange when I tell you I am an inventor.”
“Yes, inventors don’t usually become millionaires,” said Joe, who
decided to listen to what the man had to say.
“I did not make my fortune by an invention,” the man went on. “It was
left to me, and I have spent many thousands in perfecting several
machines. I am much interested in aviation.”
The man’s language was good, and he talked rationally. And as
Joe looked more closely at him he saw that his clothing was of
fine quality, though carelessly worn. The man’s cuffs showed
diamond-studded links, and his watch chain was of heavy gold.
“Perhaps I misjudged him,” thought the youth. “He may be rich and
eccentric, and may have discovered something worth while. If he could
tell me some way of getting a more powerful storage battery and,
at the same time, of less weight, it might be a good thing for the
_Bat_. I’ll hear what he has to say.”
“I don’t want any one to overhear what we say,” the visitor went on.
“They won’t,” said Joe. “But, if you like, you can come into my
dressing room.”
“I’d rather, if you will, have you come to my shop,” the inventor
replied. “I have fitted up a workroom in my house, and I do my
tinkering there. It’s safer, too, for several persons have tried to
steal my inventions. But now I keep them locked up. Will you come? It
isn’t far.”
“What is the nature of your invention that applies to my flying
machine?” Joe asked. “And do you think you can tell me how to improve
it?”
“I’m sure I can,” said the man eagerly. “I have watched you fly. I
was in Rockport at the aviation meet.”
“Oh, then you know something of heavier-than-air machines?” asked Joe.
“I do. And I have read much about you. I was interested from the
first in your _Bat_, as you call it, and I made up my mind that
I would see you as soon as I could. Business called me away from
Rockport before I could speak to you, but I knew the circus was
coming here, so I waited. I just witnessed your flight in the tent.”
Joe was more and more favorably impressed by the man, and he decided
to humor him to the extent of going to his house with him.
“Do you know anything about storage batteries and small motors?”
asked Joe. “I depend on them in my machine, Mr.----?”
He paused questioningly.
“Clark is my name--Samuel Clark,” the man said. “I have lived here
all my life. I have made a special study of storage battery motors.
That is what I want to talk to you about, and show you.”
This suited Joe, for he had a hazy plan for the next year of building
a larger flying machine that would carry two. He hoped to induce
Helen to fly with him, for that would make a big hit, he was sure.
“All right, Mr. Clark,” Joe said, “I’ll come with you. But I have to
be back here for the evening performance.”
“Oh, yes, I understand that,” was the answer. “My place is not far
away. I am sorry I haven’t an automobile or a carriage, but I am
rather old-fashioned, and prefer to walk.”
“I like walking myself,” Joe admitted. “But with my motor-cycle and
my flying machine I don’t get much of it, so I’ll be glad of a little
exercise with you.”
Joe and the inventor left the circus grounds, and on the way to Mr.
Clark’s house the man talked intelligently about electric energy as
embodied in motors and storage batteries.
“I guess maybe he may have invented something worth while,” mused
Joe, “and he’s eccentric enough not to try to market it. If I can get
a battery powerful enough to make a double machine go up, it may be a
great thing.”
One thing struck Joe as being rather queer, but he did not give it