We sauntered out on the open part of the field, back of the fence and to the side of the stands, and watched the fliers for a few moments. Three were in the air now, and I could see Norton and his men getting ready.
The boy with the message was going rapidly across the field. Kennedy was impatiently watching him. It was too far off to see just what they were doing, but as Norton seemed to get down out of his seat in the aeroplane when the boy arrived, and it was wheeled back into the shed, I gathered that he was detaching the gyroscope and was going to make the flight without it, as Kennedy had requested.
In a few minutes it was again wheeled out.
The crowd, which had been waiting especially to see Norton, applauded.
“Come, Walter,” exclaimed Kennedy, “let’s go up there on the roof of the stand where we can see better. There’s a platform and railing, I see.”
His pass allowed him to go anywhere on the field, so in a few moments we were up on the roof.
It was a fascinating vantage-point, and I was so deeply engrossed between watching the crowd below, the bird-men in the air, and the machines waiting across the field that I totally neglected to notice what Kennedy was doing. When I did, I saw that he had deliberately turned his back on the aviation field, and was anxiously, scanning the country back of us.
“What are you looking for?” I asked. “Turn around. I think Norton is just about to fly.”
“Watch him then,” answered Craig. “Tell me when he gets in the air.”
Just then Norton’s aeroplane rose gently from the field. A wild shout of applause came from the people below us, at the heroism of the man who dared to fly this new and apparently fated machine. It was succeeded by a breathless, deathly calm, as if after the first burst of enthusiasm the crowd had suddenly realised the danger of the intrepid aviator. Would Norton add a third to the fatalities of the meet?
Suddenly Kennedy jerked my arm. “Walter, look over there across the road back of us—at the old weather-beaten barn. I mean the one next to that yellow house. What do you see?”
“Nothing, except that on the peak of the roof there is a pole that looks like the short stub of a small wireless mast. I should say there was a boy connected with that barn, a boy who has read a book on wireless for beginners.”
“Maybe,” said Kennedy. “But is that all you see? Look up in the little window of the gable, the one with the closed shutter.”
I looked carefully. “It seems to me that I saw a gleam of something bright at the top of the shutter, Craig,” I ventured. “A spark or a flash.”
“It must be a bright spark, for the sun is shining brightly,” mused Craig.
“Oh, maybe it’s the small boy with a looking-glass. I can remember when I used to get behind such a window and shine a glass into the darkened room of my neighbours across the street.”
I had really said that half in raillery, for I was at a loss to account in any other way for the light, but I was surprised to see how eagerly Craig accepted it.
“Perhaps you are right, in a way,” he assented. “I guess it isn’t a spark, after all. Yes, it must be the reflection of the sun on a piece of glass—the angles are just about right for it. Anyhow it caught my eye. Still, I believe that barn will bear watching.”
Whatever his suspicions, Craig kept them to himself, and descended. At the same time Norton gently dropped back to earth in front of his hangar, not ten feet from the spot where he started. The applause was deafening, as the machine was again wheeled into the shed safely.
Kennedy and I pushed through the crowd to the wireless operator.
“How’s she working?” inquired Craig.
“Rotten,” replied the operator sullenly. “It was worse than ever about five minutes ago. It’s much better now, almost normal again.”
Just then the messenger-boy, who had been hunting through the crowd for us, handed Kennedy a note. It was merely a scrawl from Norton:
“Everything seems fine. Am going to try her next with the gyroscope. Norton.”
“Boy,” exclaimed Craig, “has Mr. Norton a telephone?”
“No, sir, only that hangar at the end has a telephone.”
“Well, you run across that field as fast as your legs can carry you and tell him if he values his life not to do it.”
“Not to do what, sir?”
“Don’t stand there, youngster. Run! Tell him not to fly with that gyroscope. There’s a five-spot in it if you get over there before he starts.”
Even as he spoke the Norton aeroplane was wheeled out again. In a minute Norton had climbed up into his seat and was testing the levers.
Would the boy reach him in time? He was half across the field, waving his arms like mad. But apparently Norton and his men were too engrossed in their machine to pay attention.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Craig. “He’s going to try it. Run, boy, run!” he cried, although the boy was now far out of hearing.
Across the field we could hear now the quick staccato chug-chug of the engine. Slowly Norton’s aeroplane, this time really equipped with the gyroscope, rose from the field and circled over toward us. Craig frantically signalled to him to come down, but of course Norton could not have seen him in the crowd. As for the crowd, they looked askance at Kennedy, as if he had taken leave of his senses.
I heard the wireless operator cursing the way his receiver was acting.
Higher and higher Norton went in one spiral after another, those spirals which his gyroscope had already made famous.
The man with the megaphone in front of the judge’s stand announced in hollow tones that
