CHAPTER XVIII

THE POSTPONED EXAMINATION

The aviator looked over the crowd, at first not appearing to have seen Ned. Then the lad spoke.

“I’ll go up with you,” he said, “if you think I’m the right weight to balance properly. If not my two friends here----” and he motioned to Jerry and Bob.

“Do you know anything about aeroplanes?” asked the man.

“A little,” admitted Ned, modestly.

“Have you ever been up in one?”

“More than once.”

“It’s all a bluff!” sneered Frank from where he stood. “He daren’t go up in that machine.”

“You--you----” began Ned angrily, and then his better sense made him keep silent.

“I’ll take you up in a minute if you’ve had any experience at all, and aren’t afraid,” said the aviator.

“Afraid!” laughed Ned. Then he mentioned some of the meets he and his chums had attended and taken part in, winning some races. Bob and Jerry confirmed this.

“Oh, if you were at _those_ meets you sure are an old hand at the game!” said Mr. Perdy, the aviator. “I was at one myself, but I don’t recall you. Yes indeed, Slade, I’ll take you up and glad to do it. Without a partner I can’t pull off this race, as one of the conditions is that each machine shall carry two persons. In fact, they won’t balance well without a double load, though I have gone up with a bag of sand.”

“Are you going high?” asked Ned. “Will I need a heavier coat?” for as all know, it is very cold in the upper air currents.

“We’re not going high, not more than a mile or two,” was the reply. “But I can get you my partner’s big ulster. I can’t imagine why he isn’t on hand. His train must be late. However, you’ll do very nicely. Do you know how to steer, and manage the engine--well, if anything happens?” he asked in a low voice.

Ned nodded, and a helper ran off to get the overcoat and a cap for the young aviator.

“I wish I’d volunteered,” said Bob.

“Same here,” murmured Jerry. “It would be like old times to be in the clouds. Next year we’ll bring our aeroplane here.”

The other students, as well as the crowd in general, were looking curiously at Ned.

“He sure has got nerve,” declared Ted Newton.

“He’ll back out at the last minute,” sneered Frank.

Ned heard but did not answer.

The two aviators who were to go up in the other machine had been getting it ready. It was now wheeled to the starting line with the one in which Ned and Mr. Perdy were to make the ascent. Ned got into the big ulster and drew the cap down over his head. He took his place in the seat beside Mr. Perdy and waved his hand to his chums.

“See you later, boys,” he called, as though starting off in an automobile.

“He’s really going up!”

“Say, that’s nerve all right!”

“I didn’t think he’d do it!”

“I wonder what Frank Watson thinks now.”

These were some of the remarks from the crowd.

“So, it wasn’t a bluff after all; was it, Jerry?” asked Ted Newton.

“Of course not. I told you we’d gone up many times before. I’ll bring our motor ship here next season, and prove that we have one.”

“That will be great! It’s almost as good as football.”

“All ready?” asked Mr. Perdy of Ned.

“Sure. Any time you are. Let her go!”

“I thought you said he’d back out, Frank,” observed Bart Haley to his chum.

“Well, he may yet. I don’t count much on the spunk of those fellows who call themselves motor boys,” and there was a sneer in Frank’s voice.

The other aviator and his partner announced that they were ready. They took their places, and a moment later, when the judges gave the signal, the switches of the self-starters were thrown over and with a rattle and bang the motors began to revolve the propellers.

Rapidly the big wooden blades spun around until they had speed enough to move the aeroplanes over the smooth ground. Then, like two big birds, the craft left the earth together, sailing upward on a long slant.

“Ever do the spiral?” yelled Mr. Perdy into Ned’s ear.

He nodded in affirmation.

“I’ll try it going up,” went on the aviator and he began climbing toward the clouds in corkscrew fashion.

Down below the crowd was shouting and cheering, for some of them had never seen an aeroplane before. But to many of the students of Boxwood Hall the machines were not new, though to have one of their fellow-members ascend in one was something out of the ordinary.

“I wish I had nerve enough to do that!” exclaimed Tom Bacon.

“Same here,” murmured Chet Randell. “It must be great.”

“I was a bit scared at first,” confessed Bob. “But I soon got used to it.”

“And he had as good an appetite up in the air as he did on the ground!” cried Jerry.

“Oh, quit!” begged the stout lad.

“Did you really eat on your aeroplane, Chunky?” asked George Fitch.

“Eat? Say, we couldn’t live on _air_ you know,” answered Chunky.

“Our biggest craft was a combined dirigible balloon and aeroplane,” Jerry explained. “We went on long trips in it, and were off the earth for days at a time.”

“Say, that sure was great!” cried Tom.

Meanwhile, all eyes were on the two aeroplanes, which were becoming smaller and smaller the higher up they went towards the clouds.

“Well, he didn’t back out; did he?” asked some one of Frank.

“Oh, dry up!” was the snarled answer.

“He took to it like a duck to water,” observed Tom Bacon, speaking of Ned. “I wonder if he’ll win the race.”

“He’s won ’em before,” put in Jerry, “but he’s not running the machine now.”

The race was going on in the air, but as previous books concerning the motor boys have so fully gone into the subject of aeronautics, the details of the race will not be set down here, for it was an ordinary one as compared to some in which Ned, Bob and Jerry had taken part. Suffice it to say, that after circling around several times over the fair grounds, keeping outside the pylons, as the upright posts marking the course were called, the two air craft made ready for the finish.

So far, it had been a pretty even contest, but when the time came for the last round and the descent, Mr. Perdy yelled to Ned:

“I’m going to try to beat him. I think I can strike a better current of air down below, where there is less resistance.”

“Go ahead,” Ned assented.

Instantly the aeroplane shot downward, and then, checking it, the pilot sent it forward. A glance upward showed that he had gained a little on his rivals.

“Take the wheel and bring her down,” suggested Mr. Perdy; and Ned did, the guiding apparatus being made so that it could be shifted from one side to the other.

Swift as a bird Ned sent the craft downward. He was approaching the finish line.

“We’re going to beat!” he told himself.

He was now near the earth, and to check his sudden descent he threw up the rudder a little, to cause the down-shooting craft to rise. This acted as a brake.

A moment later Ned let his craft down, and it ran along on the wheels over the finish line, several lengths in advance of the other.

“Ned Slade wins!”

“Hurrah for him!”

“Hurrah for Boxwood Hall!”

“Ned did it!”

Of course Mr. Perdy would have won had he been steering, but he chose to let the honor come to Ned, and the lad appreciated it.

“Great work, old man!”

“That was clever!”

“You sure have nerve!”

Thus cried Ned’s chums as they crowded around him, clapping him on the back and seeking to shake hands. He was overwhelmed with congratulations.

“That was fine!” said Mr. Perdy. “You sure do know aeroplanes! You’re not open for an engagement, are you? I have several dates booked for the South this winter, and if my partner isn’t going to attend to business any better than he did to-day, I’d like to make some arrangements with you.”

“Thank you, but I’m going to stay at Boxwood Hall,” answered Ned.

Jerry and Bob, joining Ned, looked over to where Frank Watson had been standing. But he was gone.

“I guess he had enough,” observed Tom Bacon.

The other attractions at the fair did not interest the college lads very much, and as there were to be no more flights that day the crowd of boys, including our friends and those who had come in the automobile with them, made their way back, stopping in Fordham at the “Band-Box” for some soda-water and other like refreshments. Little else was talked of but Ned’s flight.

“I never knew it could be so easy,” said Lem Ferguson.

“You’ve got to get used to it, of course,” Ned remarked. “Otherwise, there’s nothing to it.”

“I guess Frank will keep his mouth closed after this,” observed Tom Bacon.

“He doesn’t worry me,” announced Ned.

Cold weather was approaching. The mornings were chilly and the nights chillier. It was November, and football had the call. The Boxwood Hall team was doing well, and preparing for the annual contest with the military academy.

“And we’re going to win, too!” declared Ted Newton.

“I hope so,” cried Jerry.

Bart Haley was one of the star halfbacks on the eleven, but there was a danger that he would fall below the standard in studies, and not be allowed by the faculty to take part in the annual Thanksgiving day contest with Kenwell. This would be a big loss to Boxwood Hall.

As the time for the big contest approached, the standing of Bart became so uncertain that his companions, and especially Ted Newton, were worried.

“I can make it all right,” announced Bart one night to a group of boys, our three heroes being among the crowd. “I can make it all right if I don’t flunk in chemistry to-morrow.”

“Then you’re not going to flunk!” cried the football captain. “We’ll coach you now, and coach you good and hard.”

Thereupon those who were well up in that subject began to try to hammer into Bart’s brains the needful knowledge that would insure him a passing mark in the chemistry tests which would take place the next day. It was a rather important examination, and if Bart failed to make the required average in it he would not be eligible for the eleven, and could not play against Kenwell.

“And we need him,” said Ted.

But Bart’s worst study was chemistry. He simply could not remember the different symbols, try as his friends did to drill them into his head. They worked far into the night with him, but in the morning, Bart met Jerry, with whom, of late, he had become much more friendly than was Frank with any of our three heroes.

“It’s no use, Jerry,” said Bart, perhaps more chummy because of his trouble than otherwise he would have been. “I know I’m going to flunk in chemistry.”

“You mustn’t!” Jerry insisted.

“I can’t help it. I can’t tell now whether H₂SO₄ is oxylic acid or oxygen.”

“It’s neither,” said the tall lad. “It’s sulphuric.”

Bart groaned.

“That’s the way it is,” he said.

“Look here!” cried Jerry, suddenly. “We want to win that game, and the team depends on you. If the examination could be postponed you wouldn’t have to take it until after Thanksgiving.”

“And then I wouldn’t care half as much if I flunked,” said Bart, “for this is the last and most important game of the year. But they won’t put off the exam.”

“Maybe they’ll have to,” said Jerry, mysteriously. “I might persuade them.”

“How can you do it?”

“I’ll tell you,” and Jerry and Bart went off to a secluded place together, much to the wonderment of Frank, who could not imagine why his crony had suddenly become so chummy with one of the boys whom Frank and his chums had voted to snub.

But if poverty makes strange bedfellows, the desire to win a football game may make a fellow forget a contract he has entered into, especially when such an agreement is not altogether in good taste. Bart was beginning to like Jerry in spite of the efforts Frank made to prevent this. And when Jerry made his proposition, Bart cried:

“Say, if you can do that I’ll be your friend for life! If we can postpone the examination I’ll be all right, for I’m just at passing mark now. But if I flunked in chemistry I wouldn’t be.”

“Leave it to me,” said Jerry. “What time is the exam?”

“Two this afternoon, and I’m going to spend every second from now to then boning away.”

“You needn’t,” Jerry assured him. “There won’t be a chemistry test to-day.”

And there was not. When the class assembled in the room to wait for Professor Baldwin to come in to give the examination, they waited a long time. No professor appeared, though usually he was very prompt. Some of the boys looked wonderingly at one another, but they were on an honor system, and had promised not to speak after entering the examination room. They kept their word.

An hour passed, and no chemistry professor appeared to conduct the test. As it was partly oral, his presence was needed.

Finally, Proctor Thornton, who made it his business to visit each class room, some time during the progress of an examination, entered the room. He looked in surprise at the seated students in the semi-darkness, and he noted the absence of Professor Baldwin.

“Where is the dean?” asked the proctor.

“He hasn’t been here, sir,” answered Jake Porter.

“This is very strange. Wait here a moment, and I will inquire.”

The proctor was gone a short time, during which the hopes of Bart and his friends rose high. There was hardly time for an examination now, and to-morrow would be a holiday.

The proctor came back.

“I am very sorry, young gentlemen,” he said, “but Professor Baldwin is not to be found. The examination is postponed. You may go.”

And not even the proctor’s presence could restrain the cheer that echoed through the room.

“Hurrah, Bart!” cried his friends, as they hurried out. “You play against Kenwell to-morrow.”

“I guess I do,” admitted Bart with a grin.

“But what happened to Baldy?” asked several.

Bart slowly winked his eye.

“Ask Jerry Hopkins,” he replied.