Read Ebook: An aviator's luck by Cobb Frank

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 1008 lines and 43327 words, and 21 pages

Credits: Al Haines

AN AVIATOR'S LUCK

THE CAMP KNOX PLOT

CAPTAIN FRANK COBB

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

AVIATOR SERIES

AN AVIATOR'S LUCK

There was noise a-plenty in Triangle Park.

From one side of the beautiful little club house sounded the ear-splitting squeak of swing chains. All the swings were going back and forth as fast as they could be propelled by a score of pairs of active legs and arms. A patient procession toiled up the ladder of the toboggan slide and sailed gloriously down the other side. Eight small boys and girls dangled from the rings of the Maypole.

The sand piles at either side of the steps of the club house held bright little dabs of humanity all solemnly making sand pies.

Across the lawn, green as emerald and close as velvet, children in bathing suits ran to and from the bathing pool, a round, curbed fountain bed.

On the other side of the club house were the tennis courts, where, in spite of the July sun, a dozen enthusiastic players hopped lightly around the courts while as many more sat waiting their turn on the benches set against the shrubbery.

Drawn up on the grass just beyond the courts was a marking wheel, and beside it lay a boy flat on his back. His cap was tilted down over his twinkling brown eyes, showing only a brown cheek and a wide, smiling mouth. It was a good mouth and very, very rarely was it ever seen drawn down into the sullen lines that it could assume when the owner forgot. When Eddie Rowland was happy, he was way, way up; when he was gloomy, he went down, down to the very depths and stuck to the bottom like a sculpin! All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't drag him up until the cloud passed, and then pop, there was Eddie sailing around like a May morning, all happy and full of glee! He was only fourteen years old, and had a man's job at the Park during vacation. He was in charge of the courts, and they reflected credit on their keeper. Never was there a time when the markings were not perfect; never did a grass blade dare show itself within the lines prescribed. The players learned there was not pull enough in the world to get them a place on the courts out of turn.

And through it all Eddie sang and joked and whistled his way along, good friends with everyone.

Another boy lay at his side. His knees were bent, his legs crossed, and he was apparently looking with a good deal of surprise at the foot that was wagging cheerfully at the end of the excessively long leg. It was really a good way off, that foot. A nice foot, in a well-blackened shoe. Bill Wolfe's eyes were blue, and deep; his smile was quite the brightest and kindliest that a boy could have. Already, to Bill's great annoyance, it had made the block he lived on a favorite after-supper walk for a number of girls. Bill had been quite forced into the habit of sitting with his back to the street or else pretending to read the paper.

Bill and Eddie were good chums. Like many people who are different in almost every respect, they seemed to get along with very little friction. Both boys were honorable, both scorned a lie, both were willing to do what they could for other people. The fact that they differed in the little they knew of politics, religion, and general history merely served to give them never-ending subjects for discussion.

Bill, wagging his foot, turned his head and squinted at Eddie under the limp visor of his cap.

"J'ever hear such a racket?" he asked and not expecting a reply, went on, "It does look to me, Rowland, as though the city ought to put in three or four more courts."

"Three or four more courts," echoed Eddie with a wail. "What you wishin' off on me, Bill? Don't I have enough to do now? Don't I work here 'til eight o'clock at night? Don't I get up at six to get the courts marked? Say, don't I? Where would I be with more courts?"

"Why, you would have a helper, and that would be me," said Bill, uncrossing his legs and elevating the other foot. "Of course you do all those things, but don't you drag down a man's pay for it? I say you do! Gosh! I don't see why you don't apply for a helper anyhow. How's that, Rowland? I'll help you for anything in reason. Say thirty a month."

"Thirty a month!" cried Eddie, sitting up. "Thirty a ... say, Bill, what sort of a drag do you suppose I have with the Park Commissioners? Why, I only get forty-five myself."

"Course you do," said BUI, grinning. "Course you do, and you grudge me thirty! Tell you what, you are always yelling about how hard you work and all that. All right. I will do half your work for you, and you can split even with me."

"I would," said Bill; "I would do it just to show you what a real fellow can do in the way of getting a real life-sized job, but it's too late. It's only a little while before school begins, and I have to study."

"Only a little while!" repeated Eddie. "I say it is! Today is the sixth of July. Oh, man, you amuse me!" He flopped down again, and crossed his legs like Bill, but they did not stick up as high. They were short, stocky legs; those belonging to Eddie.

"Well, I don't know what I shall do," said Bill. "I do want a job, but mamma says I have got to go to Georgetown and visit my Aunts down there."

"All right, if you like it, come on with me this summer," invited Bill.

"Here's this old job," said Eddie. "I started it and I am going to finish."

"Hello, who's this coming? You don't suppose Fatty Bascom is going to take to playing tennis!"

"What cher got in the bag?" demanded Eddie as soon as the fat boy came within earshot.

"Salted peanuts," replied the boy and, approaching, stood looking down at the pair on the grass.

"Well, for goodness' sake, don't you mean to offer us any?" asked Bill.

"I've a mind to get up and fight you!" said Eddie. "I know just where I could land a knockout."

"Don't you dare!" exclaimed Fatty. "I can't fight. Mamma says it might hurt my heart, because I am fat."

"Then why don't you quit stuffing?" demanded Bill.

"Things all taste so good," said Fatty, turning the ice-cream cone around and biting on a fresh side.

"That looks like my brother's racket," remarked Bill.

"It is," answered Fatty. "He will be right over. Him and Skinny Tweeters is looking over our outfit."

"What outfit?" asked Eddie.

"Oh, yes!" said Fatty. "No fun talkin' over the phone! Central gets mad or somebody wants the line or else you can't think what to say. Besides, everybody can hear you."

"That's so," said Eddie. "And you wouldn't want anyone to hear what you have to say."

"You bet!" said Fatty.

"How'd you get the receiver?" asked Bill.

"Earned it," said Fatty proudly. "Skinny, he went down and delivered groceries, and I went without cocoa every morning for breakfast for a month. Mamma paid me for doing it."

"Gee, you have certainly got a lot of backbone!" said Eddie admiringly.

Skinny threw himself down on the grass while his chum remained standing, braced on his broad feet. It was difficult for Fatty to let himself down to earth, and certainly it was uncomfortable to sit or lie down for a fellow built that way. He stood and watched Skinny as he carefully unwrapped the fascinating wireless receiver. A couple of cards printed with the Morse code fell out, and the boys pounced on them. As they pored over them, Francis Wolfe strolled up. Bill's brother was built on lines similar to his own. He was thin and very tall and--well, boys and dogs and small kittens all liked Frank Wolfe and old ladies always asked him the way. And that about tells the sort he is.

With him came a solemn looking fellow in the uniform of an airman. They formed a group and looked the wireless receiver over, Bill and Eddie growing momentarily more excited.

"It's a great thing for you kids to fool with," Frank said finally, picking up his racket. "I don't see why you don't go into it, Bill, and you too, Eddie. Keep you both out of mischief and teach you something on the side."

"That's right," said the airman. "It's a good thing to know. I knew a fellow once, before they made the rules so strict, who went up and got some trouble with his engine. He was right in a bunch of other planes, and they all had wireless outfits on. He had one too, but he didn't know how to use it. One chap thought he saw him sort of wigwagging with a handkerchief, but of course he didn't pay any attention specially, and presently his engine went all to the bad, I reckon. At all events down he came."

"Hurt him?" asked Fatty, feeling in the bag of peanuts.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet