CHAPTER XV.

TUBBY IS OUT OF HIS ELEMENT.

If there had arisen any doubt in Hiram’s mind as to the deep interest those chums were taking in his enterprise, it must have been quickly dispelled when he made this announcement, and saw the looks of delight spreading over their faces.

“Bully!” cried Andy.

“Best wishes, Hiram!” added Tubby, genially, as he patted the other fondly on the shoulder.

Rob did not say anything, but if looks could speak Hiram might easily see that he had the sincere sympathy of the scout leader; though he knew that much before.

“While I’ve been hovering around here,” continued Hiram, “making myself useful whenever a flier was going up by running with the machine to give it a good start, I’ve kept my eyes and ears wide open, let me tell you.”

“So as to learn all you could about the Golden Gate Company, of course?” remarked Andy.

“Yes,” Hiram told him, frankly enough, “and soak in any sort of knowledge that might be useful to a feller that’s got the aviation bee abuzzin’ in his bonnet. And I’ve learned a heap, let me tell you, boys. Why, it’s paid me already for my long and arduous trip across country. I c’n start on as many as _three_ schemes I’ve been hatchin’ in my fertile brain this long time. I was up agin’ a blank wall, you see; but now I’ve got ideas worth a hull lot to me.”

“That sounds all right, Hiram,” Rob told him; “only I hope you go slow about this business. Don’t overdo it, or we may have to take you home in a strait-jacket yet.”

“Nixey, not for me,” jeered the other; “my head’s as clear as a bell. Fact is, I never felt half as bright as I do now. The clouds have been scattered, and seems like the sun was shinin’ all the time. Once I get this stabilizer business well off my hands, and have some coin to go to work with, you’ll see the dust fly.”

“And he belongs to the Eagles, too!” said Tubby, in wrapt admiration. “Seems as if you just _can’t_ suppress ’em, no way you try. There never was a patrol of scouts organized that had as many bright minds on the roster roll as ours contains.”

Andy immediately took off his campaign hat and made Tubby a low bow.

“That’s nice of you, Tubby, to say such sweet things of your chums,” he remarked, just as if it sprang straight from his heart. “And we want you to know that with the other seven the name of Tubby Hopkins will go ringing down the ages in Boy Scout history as one who always made his mark. And I can testify to that from my own personal knowledge.”

From the way in which Hiram and Rob tittered when Andy said this it could be inferred that they knew very well to what those last few words referred. The fact of the matter was that once upon a time Andy had had the misfortune to be under a tree when Tubby was knocking down nuts; and the fat scout, losing his grip on a limb, came down with tremendous force directly on Andy, who was flattened out on the ground like a pancake.

He carried the bruises he received on that occasion for quite some time; but no one could bear malice against Tubby, who, scrambling to his knees, had immediately expressed great solicitude for his unfortunate comrade, saying:

“Oh, excuse me, Andy, I didn’t know you were right under me, or I might have chosen some other place to land.”

“You don’t wonder at me being chained to this place, do you,” asked Hiram, “when there’s so much happening all the time, with pilots going up and coming down, agents explaining the use of new designs of aëroplanes they are putting on the market, and everybody ‘talking shop’? They reckon I’ve been employed in some place where they make these fliers, because I know somethin’ about them. So they let me help in a lot of ways. It’s fun, I tell you, the best fun I ever knew.”

Anyone could see that Hiram was right in his element. His freckled Yankee face seemed to glow with enthusiasm, and his little eyes shone in a way Rob had never noticed before. Indeed, if the scout leader had been inclined sometimes to fear Hiram would develop into a harmless crank, with only vague unreasonable ideas rattling about in his loose brain, that suspicion was rapidly vanishing.

Perhaps it had commenced to have an effect upon Rob’s opinion when he read that letter from the Golden Gate people. They were hard-headed business men, and not visionary dreamers; and surely they would never have advanced all that money to a strange inventor unless they believed in him, and meant to attach his genius to the fortunes of their company.

“I own up, Hiram,” said Andy, as they stood there and watched the many things that were going on all the time around them, “that there must be a sort of fascination about this thing to fellows who have a leaning that way. But as for me you never could tempt me to climb up thousands and thousands of feet like the air-pilot in the monoplane that looks like a swallow against the sky.”

“It takes some nerve, I’ll admit, Andy,” said Hiram, modestly.

“Huh! plenty of people may have nerve enough,” objected Andy, “but all the same they’d be laboring under physical disabilities.”

“As how, Andy?” asked the other.

“Oh, well, take our chum Tubby here; you never could expect him to make a flier, and bore up into the clouds. In the first place, it wouldn’t be fair to the people down below. He nearly killed me once by dropping just ten feet; think what would happen to the poor chap who happened to get in the way if Tubby came down from where that aviator is now?”

Even Tubby had to laugh at that highly colored supposition.

“Well, one thing sure!” he exclaimed, “I wouldn’t have to beg pardon for squashing him.”

“But think of the mess,” chuckled Andy.

“Watch that man who has just gone up in a monoplane. He’s the best there is on the Coast, next to Beachey himself, who is a native of California. You’ll see him turn flip-flaps to beat the band presently. Why, I’ve watched him go around twice, and as neat as a circus tumbler would do it off a springboard over the backs of three elephants. There he goes! What d’ye think of that?”

“Whew! he’s a corker, for a fact!” ejaculated Tubby, as he stood with open mouth, gaping at the wonderful exploits which the reckless air-pilot was engineering far up above the earth.

Rob, chancing to turn toward the stout boy, saw to his amusement that there was something of a wistful expression on his rosy face. Tubby could at least feel the charm that this hazardous sort of life might possess for venturesome boys, even though he knew he could never hope to attain any standing in the ranks, owing to what Andy had well called “physical disabilities.”

Athletes alone make good air-pilots, and a fellow who had the shape of a tub would only be useful as an anchor, or something like that.

Poor Tubby! It did seem that Fate was cruel to him, since he was debarred from taking an active part in so many sports such as boys enjoy. But Nature had at least given him a cheerful disposition, so that no matter how keenly disappointed he might be, he never allowed this to sour his temper.

They stood there and watched the trick aviator doing what Hiram called “stunts.” Sometimes the boys fairly gasped with sudden fear lest the man aloft had made a miscalculation, and would come plunging down like a stone to his death; but his agility and quick wit always served him faithfully.

“Some of these fine days something will happen that he doesn’t count on,” Rob said, soberly, “a flaw may develop in some part of his machine, just where it counts the most; and then—well, it will be his finish.”

“That depends,” remarked Hiram, quietly.

“On how high he happens to be at the time, you mean?” asked Andy. “Oh! just a few hundred feet will be enough to put him out of business for keeps.”

“Not if he is a wise man, and has a patent Nelson self-acting parachute fastened to him all the time!” declared the other, proudly. “It’ll open and allow him to drift slowly down, like you see hot-air balloon performers come to the earth after they’ve cut loose above.”

“Good for you, Hiram!” exclaimed Tubby; “I reckon folks have got to sit up and take notice, now that you’ve come to town! Young blood will tell every time. Oh, but I’m glad I met my chums! It was getting mighty lonesome for me, in a crowd all the time, but with not a solitary fellow to speak to. And Hiram, I’m glad you coaxed us to come over here. I’m getting interested in flying; p’r’aps if I cut down my feed, and knock off a hundred or so pounds I might have a show in this business yet.”

As they did not know whether Tubby was joking or really meant it, no one laughed at his strange remark; for they did not want to hurt his feelings. But when they glanced from the corners of their eyes at his girth the absurdity of his hope was manifest. Perhaps they may even have remembered a remark once made by Joe Digby to the effect that Tubby would have to have an extra big pair of wings given to him if ever he became an angel.

“There’s another exhibition pilot going to start up, boys,” said Hiram just then. “Suppose we walk over closer, and you can watch me lend a hand to shove him off on a good start.”

“That’s right, let’s get closer and see how things are done,” added Tubby, as he bent over, and, picking up a stick of clear pine that had caught his eye, he took out his penknife and commenced to whittle away just as though he might be the representative Yankee of fiction.

But whittling had always been a favorite occupation with Tubby; somehow it seemed to soothe him and cause his thoughts to flow more smoothly. He never could resist an extra fine bit of wood, though besides shavings he had never been known to produce any especial result from the use of his keen-edged knife-blade.

There were quite a number of people around, and they seemed to be more or less interested in the claims made by the representatives of the different aëroplanes that were being displayed, and in the practical demonstrations.

Tubby listened with rapt attention as some of the men talked, explaining what improvements had been made in the working construction of the machine just then about to be put to the test.

Hiram was doubtless dreaming of the hour of his triumph when one of these aëroplanes would be equipped with his wonderful stabilizer, and he might stand there listening to the fulsome praise of the Golden Gate Company’s demonstrator, before a practical test was made, to show how impossible it would be for a flying machine that carried such a life-saving device to be upset by flaws of wind, or the sudden movements of the pilot.

When all was ready for the flight, Hiram was one of those who laid hands on the aëroplane with the intention of running a score or two of feet, so as to assist in the start. Unnoticed by Rob, Tubby, too, had copied Hiram’s example, urged on by some irresistible impulse approaching madness, perhaps.

When the word was given, and with propeller whirling, the aëroplane started along on its bicycle wheels, with a dozen pushers to assist, there was Tubby in the midst.

Suddenly there arose a series of shouts of alarm.

All of the other willing helpers had dropped off, only Tubby was sprinting furiously after the aëroplane, which was bumping along over the ground with ever increasing momentum. Rob felt a thrill of real alarm when he believed he saw that the left arm of the stout boy was drawn out, as though in some unfortunate way it had become caught in a trailing cord, so that he was compelled to keep on, no matter how much he wanted to break away!