The next day the work was at a standstill, for they had gone as far as they could without the ribs and the covering. So the aero club separated, Mac and Tom joining Nelson Pierce for a day of fishing. Most of the troop went down to the lake with Red Deer for a “soak.” Harry sat on the ground near camp all the morning, his back against a huge tree, and his knees drawn up by way of a writing desk. Here he used up page after page of a writing tablet, making a variety of diagrams, only to crunch up each leaf and stuff it into one or other of his pockets. No one was about except Charlie Greer, cook, and Johnnie Walden, cookee, who were busy in the lean-to. When Harry finally ambled over toward them, he was stiff from his long sitting. Out of the fifty or so sheets of paper he had used, there were only six that he saw fit to save. The rest he pulled out from his various pockets.
“I’m a human waste basket, Charlie,” said he. “Here, burn these up, will you?”
“Figuring out your glider?” Charlie asked.
Harry creased a sheet of paper into an arrowy form and shot it through the trees. “Look at that go, will you, Charlie?” He went and picked it up and brought it to Charlie to burn. Then he wandered off, his hands in his trousers pockets. He passed Morrel, who was on sentinel duty at the edge of the grove.
“What’s the matter, old man?” said Morrel. “You look lonesome.”
“Come on down to the village,” said Harry. He knew Morrel couldn’t go, but he asked to be sociable.
In Port Henry, he jumped upon the bench in Marty’s boat-yard. “Got those paregoric ribs ready?” said he.
Marty looked at him suspiciously, as if he were beginning to see through some involved swindling game. “Thought you was comin’ down in yer boat to-morrer.”
“So we are, but I’m in a hurry to see one of them.”
“Well, there they be,” said Marty, with lofty contempt. “You’re daft if you go into this aeroplane business.”
“I know it,” said Harry, “but I can’t help it; I was born that way. Can I take one of these along?”
“Guess that’ll be all right,” drawled Marty.
When the other boys returned from their various occupations they found Harry squatted near the unfinished glider, contemplating with critical gaze the solitary rib, which he had fastened in place.
The work, so far, consisted of two rectangular frames, each twenty-four by three feet, and joined at the corners by the right-angle braces, fastened with screws. The fact that these frames were four feet longer than the regulation trial glider would seem to indicate a sneaking intention on Harry’s part to install motive power sometime or other; but if he ever did, it is not a part of this story.
Besides the end pieces, four other cross-bars, or struts, had been fastened between the beams at even intervals, except that in one of the frames the two nearest the center were only two feet apart. This would be the under plane, and the space in the center being left uncovered, the passenger might pass his arms over these center cross-bars, hanging by his armpits. The lateral balance of the glider would thus be controlled by the sideways swinging of his legs, and its coasting inclination—that is, the tilting upward or downward of its air-cutting surfaces—by his sliding backward or forward on these central struts.
Thus, in this simple form of glider, the weight of the operator’s body takes the place of complicated stability planes and rudders, and all that is needed to maintain a level keel is a level head.
“That rib looks lonesome there, Harry,” said Tom Langford.
“Well, it will have to stick it out alone to-night,” Harry answered.
“Looks like a fence that’s fallen down, doesn’t it?” said Howard.
They spent some time screwing on more of the right-angle braces, for though they lacked many of the fittings usually recommended for such work, they had an abundance of these braces. They served very well to hold all corners firmly and rigidly together, although of course absolute rigidity of such open framing could only be secured by a thorough system of taut wire trussing.
“Guess she won’t fly away to-night,” said Tom Langford. “Come on down and clean up for supper. I say, it makes me sad to see that lonely rib there.”
The next day they went into Port Henry with the Swan, and got the bicycle, the silk shelter, and the rest of the ribs. There were forty-one, all told. They were curved to perfection, and the boys were vociferous in their thanks to Marty. On the way back, one of them slipped into the water.
“Floating rib,” said Matthew Reed. “I knew a man once who had a floating rib.”
“Joke,” said Mac.
“Well, people do have such things as floating ribs,” protested Matthew; “ask Dr. Brent.”
“Very clever,” said Tom Langford. “Let’s all laugh.”
“Hope you choke,” grunted Matthew.
The next day the ribs were fastened in place, and these, of course, had a bracing effect on the frame. On the upper plane there were twenty-one ribs, placed at even spaces across the frame. On the lower, one rib was omitted in the center, where there would be no cloth covering on account of the open space required to hold the passenger. Thus the ribs were something over a foot apart. Since the frames were only three feet wide and the ribs four feet long, it followed that they had to project a foot over one edge, and this of course must be the back, or after, edge. The front or abruptly curved end of each rib was brought flush with the long beam and screwed down to it with a long, flatheaded screw. Then where it crossed the after beam it was also screwed down. They were careful to see that each one was correctly squared with the long bars, so that the ribs, when placed, were parallel with each other.
When their work was finished, the boys squatted about, surveying the result of their labor and commenting on the scientific and shipshape appearance it was beginning to assume. The curved ribs had transformed the fencelike frames into two graceful pieces of lattice, with a sort of aerial, buoyant aspect that immediately suggested the aeroplane. Up to this point the work might have been intended for any one of a dozen purposes. Not so now.
“She’s going to be all right,” said Mac. “Where’ll we try her out—down the hill?”
“We’d better try her on the level first,” said Harry.
“Certainly, we’ll do everything on the level,” ventured Matthew.
“Matty,” said Tom, “if you don’t stop making these jokes—”
“I can’t seem to satisfy you fellows,” said Matthew. “That wasn’t such a bad one—”
“Wouldn’t it be a good idea,” asked Howard, innocently, “to put the covering on before we try her out?”
“Mightn’t be a bad scheme,” said Harry.
“You know most of them are covered,” Howard said; “they say it helps them to rise.”
Two sonorous blasts of Charlie Greer’s tin horn put an end to the conversation. Near the lean-to the trunk of a young tree had been felled and rested horizontally in the forks of two others. From this hung a line of seventeen towels, rough dry, but spotless, each one bearing a scout’s initials. The cookee laundered these every sunny day, by Red Deer’s orders. In process of preparation for supper, Harry reached the rack before the others, and came upon Gordon giving his round face a few final rubs.
“Hello, Kid,” he said cheerily.
“Hello,” Gordon answered.
“Thought we’d see you over yonder to-day. She’s beginning to look quite shipshape, Kid. Come on over in the morning and take a look. Guess we’ll get her finished to-morrow, if Mat doesn’t stop to chin too much. Been stalking to-day?” But there was no answer; and when Harry’s face emerged from its towel, Gordon had disappeared.
It developed from camp-fire talk that night that Gordon had been stalking with that indefatigable stalker, Brick Parks. Parks, after long and patient effort, had managed to get a first-class snapshot of a hawk, for it was his public-spirited wish that the Hawk Patrol, of which he was a member, should have some sort of representation of their patron bird, produced by his own hand. And the idea had fired Gordon with enthusiasm, so that for the last two days he had been haunting the stream, armed with his trusty little “Brownie,” in the hope of bringing its deadly focus on a real live beaver.
Under ordinary circumstances, he would have consulted his patrol leader about this, and if he had he might have directed his search more wisely; but as it was, he was going to triumph over the entire patrol, he was going to do them a magnificent good turn, he was going benevolently to donate eight photographs of a beaver, one for each member, and Arnold, when he received his, would feel the sting of a remorseful conscience, and that would serve him right.
“Any beavers to-day?” asked the doctor, as he took his customary seat amongst them.
“No, sir,” said Gordon.
“I should think that land under the precipice might have a beaver,” the doctor suggested, “near the pond, I mean. I believe you’ll find them pretty scarce, though, Gordon. A muskrat wouldn’t do?”
“Of course not,” said Gordon. “We’re not muskrats.”
“Well, a muskrat is a kind of a small beaver,” protested the doctor, cautiously.
“Just the thing,” said Tilford Morrel, Hawk. “He’s a kind of small beaver, aren’t you, Kid?”
The talk turned to the all-important topic of the glider, and Red Deer fell a victim to the ruse which was practiced on him nearly every night, that of getting him interested in some absorbing topic just before eleven o’clock. Then, at about twelve, he would rise with great alacrity, saying that the hour was outrageous, but that he had only himself to blame.
In the morning came the most difficult part of the work, especially difficult since they were in the woods and had not the proper material for what they had to do. This was to fasten the two planes, one above the other, by means of the upright stanchions. If they had been in the city, their stanchions would have been round, and it would have been a simple matter to procure brass sockets for the ends to rest in. As it was, Mac suggested buying twelve ordinary brooms, which would have cost them about five dollars. Harry improved on this by suggesting hickory rake-handles, which can be purchased separately for twenty cents each in any country store. But since they had no round sockets, square stanchions would, on the whole, be best.
“Besides,” said Tom, “I wouldn’t have the nerve to walk into that store and ask for twelve rake-handles. Every merchant prince in town thinks we’re a pack of lunatics, as it is. Marty Forbes pities us. So does the telegraph operator. When I asked for piano wire, those two fellows in the hardware store looked at each other and winked. Come on, let’s get busy with the square stanchions.”
“That’s right,” said Matthew, “have the stanchions on the square if we mean to use the machine on the level, then—”
Mac walked grimly up to him and shook a chisel in his face. “Matthew, the day has just started; you are forgiven this once, but don’t let it happen again. Now, you remember!”
“Come on, messmates,” said Walden, tightening his belt; “are we going to get through to-night?”
“Indeed we are!” said Harry.
They placed one of the four-foot stanchions in the corner of the frame, held it upright, and screwed it on by means of the right-angle, wrought-iron braces. They used two of the braces, one flange of each screwed to a side of the upright, the other two flanges screwed one along the long beam, the other along the end cross-bar. When they had done this, the stanchion stood plumb upright and solid. If you do not care to pay fancy prices for brass stanchion sockets, do not let the books frighten you into doing so. These little wrought-iron braces, with screws to match, will do very well, and square stanchions are not half bad.
They put a stanchion wherever there was a cross-bar end. Now came the job of lifting the other frame and placing it on the stanchion-tops. When this had been secured, the whole frame was not as steady as they wished. But they contemplated their handiwork with admiring comments. It looked for all the world like Goodwin’s biplane.
Now it was time to lay violent hands on Mac’s old bicycle, and the boys went at it as if it were a cold turkey the day after Thanksgiving. Their object was to furnish the glider with wheels, placing them to the rear near the ends of the lower plane, so that the legs of the operator might form a third wheel, in a sense, relieving him of much of the strain of a sudden alighting. They remembered the wheels on Goodwin’s machine, and they had not stopped to reflect that in a light-weight glider their room might be better than their company. It fell to Harry to discover a better use for the old wheels.
“Here’s a way to truss her up good and tight,” said he. “We don’t need these wheels—she’s as light as a feather. And here’s a way to pull the wiring taut. That’s very necessary. Why, Goodwin walked around his machine trying all the wires, and they sounded like harp strings, they were so tight.”
If you have a bicycle, you must have noticed that one end of the spoke is threaded and screws into a little turnable socket. They filed off each one, leaving the threaded end and its socket on the spoke. Then they cut the spokes a few inches from the sockets, and bent the other ends into the shape of a hook eye. Now, they took a strand of wire, bound it firmly to one corner of the frame, drew it loosely to an opposite corner, and cut it in the middle. One severed end they bound to the threaded socket, the other to the eyelet they had made in the spoke. The spoke was then screwed into its socket, and by this operation the wire was pulled taut. It sang and vibrated when they tried it with their fingers.
“Hurrah! How’s that for trussing!” exclaimed Howard Brent.
“We can screw these wires so tight she won’t give a particle,” shouted Tom. “Good for you, Harry!”
The idea was a good one, for since absolute rigidity of the long planes is imperative, it follows that the trussing and bracing by wire must be perfectly tight—tighter than any pair of hands can draw it. It was a particularly happy notion in this case, as it permitted of the glider’s being easily taken apart.
Several of the boys now got between the two planes, being careful not to step on the ribs, and began trussing. They wired each section separately, stretching a wire from each corner to the diagonally opposite corner,—that is, from the lower end of the back stanchion to the upper end of the next forward stanchion, and so on.
“Reminds you of that game you play with string,—cat in the cradle—doesn’t it?” said Matthew. That was as near as he dared approach to a joke.
“Yes, dearie,” said Mac.
They had to be careful that no wires should span the open space to be occupied by the passenger. As each wire was fixed in place, it was tightened by turning the little bicycle-spoke socket, and it was a never failing delight to the boys to spring these wires and listen with satisfaction to the long vibration which told how tightly they pulled the frame together and held it rigid.
When the trussing was finished, Mac stepped into the operator’s place, grasped the cross-bars, and lifted the machine. It tilted to one side, then to the other, but did not sag.
“A couple of you hold up the ends,” said Mac, “while I hang in the middle, and see if it holds stiff.”
Two boys did so, but the long frame did not give, nor was there any sound of straining.
“She’s what G. Lord would call a James Dandy,” said Tom.
“She’s a lalapazuza!” Howard shouted, throwing his cap in the air.
“All we have to do now is to fit on her silk dress,” said Harry.
This was quickly done. They cut the silk into strips wide enough to span two rib-spaces. Each strip was turned under the forward bar, which was smeared with glue, then tacked with copper tacks and pulled tightly to the after bar, where it was also fastened. The edges of the strips met at every second rib, where glue was also smeared and the overlapping edges tacked down.
“There was some kind of a thin moulding running along over the ribs on Goodwin’s machine,” said Harry, thoughtfully.
“Harry, was there anything about Goodwin’s machine that you didn’t see?” asked Mac. “Your beautiful gray eyes are certainly wonders for seeing things.”
Harry, ignoring the compliment, departed, and presently reappeared with a felt duffel bag.
“That’s mine,” said Matthew Reed. “What are you going to do with that?”
“I’m going to attach it,” said Harry.
“Attach it to what?”
“Attach it in the interest of science. Now, Matthew, don’t cut up and be naughty at the last minute. You know you have two of these.”
Matthew subsided, under a storm of references to his lack of public spirit, and the felt bag was cut into long, narrow strips, slightly wider than the ribs, and tacked along over them.
The lower plane was covered in the same way, except that the two-foot space between the central struts was left free of rib and covering, to accommodate the passenger’s body. Thus a boy could step into this space (always watchful not to step on the flanking silk) and, stooping, take the struts in his two hands and lift the complete frame.
“She’s did!” shouted Tom Langford, throwing a tack-hammer into the air.
They stood about, eying the completed glider admiringly. There it stood, its ends resting on two logs, graceful, aerial, but strong, its taut copper wiring crossing and recrossing between the curved surfaces and glittering in the declining sunlight. They surveyed it from every angle, with enthusiastic comments. From the rear, the slight uniform curve of the silk to the rib summits, with the outline of the ribs showing at even intervals beneath the tight-drawn cloth, was beautiful. They looked from end to end, through a long vista of slanting wires. Howard Brent stepped on the middle of one of the lower bars and jumped ever so slightly. There was no spring. The bar, one inch in diameter, held rigid like a bar of steel.

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