Dave Dashaway the Young Aviator: or, In the Clouds for Fame and Fortune. Roy Rockwood
you?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“It fell out of that airship that just went over us. It was this bundle that hit the horse and made him run away.”
“Why – why – ” stammered Ned in great excitement. “Do you think so?”
“I am sure of it. That name there, too – ‘King’. I read about him being down at the meet at Fairfield in a paper yesterday, and ‘C. A. A.’ means Central Aero Association.”
“Is there much money, Dave?” questioned Ned.
“About fifty dollars.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Return it to the owner.”
“Of course, but how are you going to get it to him?”
“I’ll find a way,” replied Dave thoughtfully. “He will be pretty glad to get back that medal.”
“I should think so, too.”
Dave carefully replaced the pocket book in the sweater, rolled it up, and stowed it in the corner of the seat space. Then he took up the lines and started up Dobbin, both he and Ned walking along beside the wagon.
Ned had been dazzled with the sight of the valuable contents of the sweater bundle, and could talk of nothing else. Dave let him talk, and did not say much. He had the broken wagon and a thought of the way that mishap would stir up his guardian on his mind, and it was not a very pleasant thing to think about. At the same time, Dave had a vague glimmering idea that events were framing up that brought him in closer touch all the time with aeronautics.
“Say, Dave, I’ll go home with you if you like,” suggested Ned, as they neared the Towner place.
“Thank you, Ned, but I don’t think you had better.”
“I could help you put up the horse and all that, you know.”
“No,” responded Dave definitely. “There’s a storm to face, and I might just as well face it alone and have it over with.”
“Tell me what you decide to do about getting that stuff back to the airship man, won’t you?”
“I certainly shall.”
“I wish you could arrange to take it to this Mr. King yourself, Dave,” went on Ned. “He would be sure to appreciate it, and help you get an insight into the doings down at the aero meet in which you are so interested. Well, see you to-morrow! Good night!”
“Good night, Ned,” responded Dave, and started on his lonely way. He wondered how his guardian would take his late coming and the broken wagon. As the rail supporting the broken wheel clattered over the rutty road leading into the yard, Dave drew Dobbin to a halt and stared up wonderingly at the one side window of the barn loft.
There Dave saw a light, or rather the receding radiance of a light, as if some person was just descending the stairs with a lantern. It was a very unusual circumstance for anybody to visit the loft except himself. He had always used it as a work room, the grain and hay being stored in a shed built onto the stable. The next moment Mr. Warner came out from the barn.
He carried a lantern in one hand. In the other was a big sledge hammer. The old man looked ugly, excited and was out of breath. The moment he caught sight of Dave he hurried forward, dropping the hammer.
“Aha! so you’ve got home at last, have you?” he snarled.
“Yes, sir. I’m afraid I am a little late,” said Dave.
“A little late – a little late!” snarled the old man. “You’re two hours behind time. Now then, I want to know what this means?”
“I was delayed in finding Mr. Swain at the warehouse,” explained Dave, “but I don’t make that an excuse. There were some airships going over the town. Everybody was looking at them, and I couldn’t help doing it myself.”
“Airships!” shouted Warner. “Well, there’s one airship, as you call ’em, that won’t fill your head with nonsense any more.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Dave anxiously.
“I mean that I won’t stand you loitering and wasting my time any more,” declared Dave’s guardian. “I mean that I’ve settled one end of your nonsense. I’ve smashed that crazy model of yours, and if I hear any more of this airship rot, I’ll give you the trouncing of your life.”
“You’ve – smashed – my – model!” gasped Dave, in unspeakable amazement and dismay.
“Yes, I have. What about it?” challenged the irate old tyrant.
“You dared to – ” began Dave, his face on fire, and he felt as if he could no longer control himself. Then fortunately at just that moment there was a diversion. His guardian’s eye chanced to fall upon the dismantled wagon with one wheel gone and the box supported by the dragging fence rail.
With a shriek of rage that was almost a bellow he grabbed Dave by the arm and dragged him up to the wrecked vehicle.
“Who did that?” he raged. “Don’t tell me – it’s a piece of spite work! Who did that, I say?”
CHAPTER III
BREAKING AWAY
Dave Dashaway was almost speechless. His tyrant master had struck him in a tender spot, indeed. Not that Dave had ever been foolish enough to build extravagant hopes on his model. It had been all guess work and an experiment. However, his soul had been wrapped up in his labor, he had been proud and pleased with his progress as an inventor, and that mean, vengeful act of the old man roused him up terribly.
“What busted that wagon?” demanded Mr. Warner, grasping Dave’s arm till the pain was unbearable.
Dave jerked loose, and panting and angry-faced confronted his guardian with a look that made the old man hesitate. His lip trembled, but he held his speech as steady as he could, as he replied:
“Dobbin got scared and ran into the ditch.”
“With your star-gazing after those airships I’ll warrant.”
This was so near the truth that Dave did not reply.
“What do you suppose will pay for all that damage to that wagon?” demanded Warner.
“I suppose my hard work will,” bluntly replied Dave.
“Your hard work – bah! It looks as if you was worked hard, fritting half of the afternoon away, spending hours and hours on that worthless piece of trumpery up in the barn loft. I’ve settled for good and all. Now you put up that horse, get your supper, and go to your room. You dare to leave it till I say so, and I’ll just call the sheriff up here again, and see what he says about affairs.”
This was an old-time threat of his guardian. It was worn so threadbare that Dave did not pay much attention to it. He proceeded silently about his task, unhitched Dobbin, led him to his stall, and made him comfortable for the night with feed and bedding.
As Dave came out into the yard again he made a speedy run for the wagon. His guardian had been poking about the vehicle, and had discovered the sweater roll. This he now held, turning it over and over in his hand and viewing it curiously.
“Here!” shouted Dave, “that’s mine.”
“Oh, is it?” snapped the old man, holding the bundle out of Dave’s reach. “What is it? I’m going to see.”
“I don’t mean that it belongs to me,” Dave corrected himself, “but I found it.”
“What is it?”
“It fell out of an airship. It lighted on Dobbin’s back. That’s what made him run away.”
“Fell from an airship?” repeated old Warner with a sniff of disbelief. “Romancing, hey?”
“No, I am not, I am telling you the truth,”