Chapter 2

THE BROTHERS' INVENTION

When Paul Ross reached home that afternoon, it was to find someone there whom he had not expected to see. A tall, broad-shouldered young man, with a bronzed face and pleasant blue eyes, sat in the living-room, talking to his mother.

Paul rushed forward and joyfully grasped his brown hand. "Why, John!" he exclaimed, "I didn't expect to find you here!"

"Of course you didn't, Buddy," was the smiling response of the young man, who was wont to call his younger brother by this affectionate war-mate term. "The fact is, as I was just telling mother, two days ago I didn't know myself that I would be anywhere at this hour except speeding through the air between New York and Washington on my usual mail run in my trusty old Martin-bird. As it is, Buddy, it looks now as if neither you nor I would ever handle her controls again." There was a note of sadness in John's voice as he said this.

"Why, what's the matter, John?" asked Paul quickly.

"It's this way, lad: You know I told you and mother a couple of weeks ago, when I was here on my last regular lay-over, that Congress was talking about cutting a big slice out of the Air Mail appropriation, in order to reduce expenses. Well, the upshot of it all is, they made the cut, and not having enough money to carry on the service as it has been, the head of the Air Mail has ordered the abandonment of all flying divisions except the main line between New York and San Francisco. Only those pilots will be kept. So that's why I am here."

"Won't they take you on again soon, John?" asked Mrs. Ross.

"I fear not, mother," replied her elder son, shaking his head soberly. "Our field-superintendent did say that he would give me the first opening in the transcontinental line, since my records lead the bunch, and he even offered to displace one of the boys on that route and put me in his place, but--"

"But you refused," interrupted Paul, with conclusive pride in his big brother.

John grinned. "Well, put it that way if you like, Buddy," said he; "anyhow, as I said before, here I am. Some chap may quit or 'go West'--you know a round dozen of the poor chaps have been killed in the last year--and that may let me back in again. But I won't wait for it; I'll get after some of the commercial flying companies next week and see if I can't land a berth with them. I simply can't think of working on the ground. I guess I should have been born a bird, mother, instead of a human being, I love flying so much."

"I really believe you would be safer if you were a bird, John," asserted Mrs. Ross, with an uneasy smile. "Birds have no motors to fail them, no fire to ignite and burn them up, as our present airplanes. How many of your own unfortunate associates can lay their untimely deaths to either one of these causes! It was only the last time you were here that you were telling Paul and me about the terrible fall Howard Smith had because his motor stopped, and how his machine ignited, and how he was burned past recognition."

"I know," said the veteran airman; "those things will happen at times, mother, even with the most careful fellows. The time will come, I think, and very soon, when stalled motors can be restarted in the air, and when accidentally ignited fuel will burn itself out with no harm to either the machine or its occupants. The fact is, Paul and I have some ideas now as to how to overcome those very troubles, along with other improvements, and the first chance we get we are going to build an airplane along these lines and put it to the test, aren't we, Buddy?"

"We surely are," was Paul's enthusiastic response. "One of these fine days, mother, when we get our patents and sell them, you shall live in as fine a home as the Giddings's over on Shadynook Hill, and when you wish to go into the city to do any shopping, John or I will take you in a beautiful sedan airplane which will be safer than an automobile, and which will be guaranteed not to raise a dust or wear out tires."

Mrs. Ross laughed heartily at the glowing picture her second son had drawn, more because he spoke with such seriousness, and because John too wore a matter-of-fact look during the prophecy.

"Oh, I have some great dreamers here in this little family," she said, as she arose to resume her household duties. "We will hope that some of your dreams come true."

Her sons laughed good-naturedly; then Paul turned to his brother. "Come on down in the basement, John," he said; "I wish to show you our latest miniature model, the Sky-Bird. Another day's work ought to finish it."

John followed him downstairs. In one corner of the large basement was a good-sized workbench, lighted by two windows, and equipped with several neatly-arranged shelves, which now held a divers collection of chisels, bits, countersinks, etc. In a splendid oak cabinet attached to the wall above was a more extensive array of wood- and metal-working tools, some of which the brothers had bought with money earned at odd jobs when they were still small boys. Since, they had added to their set from time to time, as they needed this tool or that, until now few professional mechanics could boast of a finer assortment.

Suspended from a hook directly over the bench was a beautiful six-foot model of a racy-looking monoplane of peculiar and striking design. It was glistening in several coats of spar-varnish, and so light and delicate was its spidery frame that, as John reached out to take it in his hand, the exhalation of his breath set it swaying away from him.

"My word, it's a light boy all right!" exclaimed John admiringly, as he carefully took hold of the pretty thing. "That's just the feature we've tried to get, too, Buddy,--lightness." He looked closely at the long, graceful pair of wings, which were of an unusual thickness and a slight upward thrust like those of a bird, and which widened batlike as they ran back and joined the rear fuselage or body of the craft. "Have you put the helium-gas in these wings yet, Paul, as we planned? I see you have installed the valves. There's a valve in the after-fuselage, too."

"The wings and fuselage are both filled," said Paul; "that is what makes the Sky-Bird so light. If you had brought more helium the last time you were here, I could have pumped in twice the quantity, I think, and that would have made her so light she would rise of her own accord, I really believe. As it is, she now weighs less than a half-ounce. I had the scales on her yesterday."

John shared his brother's enthusiasm. "Fine!" he cried, with sparkling eyes. "Why, that's almost a neutral condition, as she is! Buddy, if we can apply this principle to a full-size machine--and I don't know why we can't--we shall have solved the biggest problem facing airplane designers to-day. With a machine weighing only a trifle more than her load of fuel and baggage, she will not only fly a lot faster but go a lot farther, with a given supply of fuel, than the present-day planes. And what is more, she could attain good speed with a single engine of reasonable power, where now many machines are handicapped with the burdensome weight of an extra power-plant. When will she be ready to test out?"

"I had planned to give her a trial in the old fair-grounds Saturday afternoon," said Paul. "I've asked Bob Giddings to go along."

"That's all right; Bob is a fine lad," said John; "but since you have set the trial for Saturday afternoon, and Bob's father is usually at home at that time, why don't you ask him to view the affair also? I'm sure he would enjoy it. He's a great sportsman, you know, like most newspaper men, and considerably interested in aeronautics."

"I had not thought of it; I'll do it," was the prompt response of Paul. "But we must warn him to silence, John. Whatever happens, we don't wish this to get into the _Daily Independent_."

"I'd say not," rejoined the former Air Mail pilot sententiously. "Mum's the word; we've got something here, Buddy. Unless I'm greatly mistaken we'll be consulting with the Patent Office at Washington much sooner than little mother anticipates." He poked Paul in the ribs as he spoke, and both young men gave vent to a low chuckle of intense satisfaction. It was an even greater pleasure to look forward to surprising their mother than to astonishing the world and winning its plaudits.

As good an airplane mechanic and flyer as John Ross was, his younger brother was little behind him in the matter of skill in handling a modern machine. It had been John's habit to return to Yonkers every two weeks for a week's lay-off, as customary with other pilots in the Air Mail service. On these occasions he had arrived in his plane, and during the term of his stay had often taken Paul up into the air for pleasure flights, as well as his chum Bob Giddings. Both boys were keen students, and it was not long before John could trust them to operate his big Martin with every confidence. Once, indeed, he and Paul had been caught over Long Island Sound in a bad storm, when the latter was in the pilot's seat, but Paul had brought the craft through like a veteran, winning his brother's unstinted praise and undying respect.