Jack Wright - Famous Flyers and Their Famous Flights

Reluctant to leave, the boys neverthelessdecided that they really couldn’t wait allnight in the storm for Captain Bill, andso they started for home.

Very wet, and bedraggled, and very, very, hungry, they arrived. Hal’s mother was practicallyhysterical, met him at the door, anddrew him hastily into the house.

Mr. Martin and his son ran swiftly fromthe garage to the back door of their house, but were soaked before they got in. Enteringthe darkened kitchen, they could hearvoices inside.

“Doesn’t that sound like – why, it is – that’sBill’s voice,” shouted Bob. The lightswitched on, and Bill and Mrs. Martin cameinto the kitchen to greet their prodigal relatives.

“Hello,” said Bill, “where have you peoplebeen? You seem to be wet. Shake on it.”

“Well, how in the – how did you get in?”shouted Mr. Martin, pumping Bill’s hand.“We were waiting in the rain for you forhours.”

“I know,” said Bill, contritely, “we triedto get in touch with you, but we couldn’t.You see, I came in by train.”

“By train!” exclaimed Bob. “By train!”

“Why, sure,” laughed the Captain, “Why, aren’t you glad to see me without my plane?That’s a fine nephewly greeting!”

“Oh, gee, Bill, of course I’m glad to seeyou, but – well, I’ve sort of been countingon your bringing your plane.”

Bill laughed. “The plane’s coming allright,” he said. “We had a little accidentthe other day, and the wing needed repairing.I decided not to wait for it, but to comein on the train to be with you. So PatMcDermott is bringing the plane in in afew days. Is that all right? May I stay?”

“Yup, you can stay,” said Bob. “ButI want something to eat!”

“Everything’s ready,” said Mrs. Martin.“You change your clothes, and come rightdown to dinner.”

“Sure thing,” said Bob. But he did notchange immediately. He stopped first to puttwo crossed flags in the window, whichmeant to Hal, “Come right over.”

Hal couldn’t come right over. He had tobe fussed over, steamed, dosed, and put tobed so that he would suffer no ill effectsfrom his soaking that evening. But he wasover bright and early the next morning. Ithad rained all night, and was still rainingin a quiet, steady downpour, when Hal appearedat the Martin home, dressed in rubbers, raincoat, muffler, and carrying an umbrellato protect him on his long trek fromhis own front door to his friend’s. CaptainBill would have been startled at the strangelybundled figure of Hal, but he had beenwarned, and greeted Hal without a blink ofan eyelash. In fact, as soon as Hal had beenunwrapped from his many coverings, andhad spoken to them all, Captain Bill discoveredthat he was probably going to likethis boy after all, and was pleased that hisnephew had such good judgment in choosinga friend and companion.

They talked that morning, of course, about airplanes, and the boys told how theyhad been reading about the famous flyers, and of their hopes to be flyers themselvessome day. Bill had been a good listener, andhad said very little, but after lunch Hal saidwhat had been on his chest for a long time.

“Captain Bill, we’ve been doing all thetalking. Why don’t you tell us a story?”

The Captain laughed. “I think that Bob’sheard all my stories. I’m afraid that they’rea little moth-eaten now. But how aboutthe two of you telling me a story? Someof the things that you’ve been reading socarefully. How about it?”

“We can’t tell a story the way you can, old scout,” said Bob. “Anyway, we askedyou first.”

“All right, I’m caught,” said the Captain.“But I’ll tell you a story only on one condition.Each of you has to tell one too.That’s only fair, isn’t it?”

Bob and Hal looked at each other. Halspoke. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to,” hesaid, blushing. “I can’t tell stories, I’m sureI can’t.”

Captain Bill knew that it would be tactlessat that moment to try to convince Halthat he could tell a story. It would only increasethe boy’s nervousness, and convincehim only more of the fact that he could notspin a yarn. So he said, “Well, we’ll tellours first, and you can tell yours later. Afteryou hear how bad ours are, you’ll be encouraged.”Then Bill had an idea. “Howabout having a contest?” he said. “The onewho tells the best story gets a prize.”

“What prize?” asked Bob quickly.

“Now, you take your time. We’ll decideon the prize later. We’ll have to let Patin on this, too, I suppose, but he’s going togive us some competition. Pat’s a great storyteller. I’ll tell my story first. Then Bob cantell his, after he’s had some time for preparation; then Pat will probably want to gethis licks in; and Hal will come last. He’llhave the benefit of our mistakes to guide him.How about it?”

“All right with me,” said Bob, eagerly.He was keen about the idea.

But Hal seemed less enthusiastic. His naturalreticence, he felt, would make it torturefor him to tell a story. It would be all rightjust for Bob – and he was even getting wellenough acquainted with Captain Bill totell his story in front of him – but this PatMcDermott – even his name sounded formidable.Captain Bill didn’t give him a chanceto say aye, yea, or nay, but went on talking.

“I think that we ought to choose subjectsthat you two know about,” said Bill. “Howabout stories of the aviators – of FamousFlyers and their Famous Flights?”

“Great!” said Bob. “Gee, I want Lindbergh.”

“Lindbergh you shall have,” said CaptainBill. “What’s yours Hal?”

“I don’t know,” said Hal. “I’ll have tothink it over. But – I think that I’d liketo take the life of Floyd Bennett – if I may.”

“Of course,” said Bill. “I think that I’lltell about Admiral Byrd – do you think he’dmake a good story?”

“Marvelous!” said Bob, with his usual enthusiasm.“What’ll we leave for Pat?”

“Pat can take whomever he wants to take,”the Captain said. “He’ll have to take what’sleft. That’s what he gets for coming late.But what do you say we wait to start thecontest when Pat comes?”

“Yes, oh, yes, I think that that would bemuch better,” said Hal, relieved that the ordealwould at least be postponed, even if itcould not be avoided altogether. “I thinkthat we ought to wait until Mr. McDermottcomes.”

The Captain laughed. “Don’t let him hearyou call him ‘Mr. McDermott’” he said.“He’s Pat to everybody, and to you, too.”

“I’ll try to remember,” said Hal, miserably, thinking of what a complicated worldthis was.

It was still raining outside. The boys andthe Captain, seated in the library, or rather, sprawled in the library, could see the streamsof rain splash against the windows and rundown in little rivers until they splashed offagain at the bottom of the pane.

Captain Bill yawned and stretched. “Notmuch to do on a day like this. I’m mightyanxious to get out to the airport as soonas it clears up. What’ll we do?”

Bob had an idea. “Couldn’t we sort ofsneak one over on Pat?” he said. “Couldn’twe have a story, one not in the contest, now?It wouldn’t count, really, and it would giveus a little rehearsal before Pat gets here.”

“Who’s going to tell this story?” askedCaptain Bill, looking just a bit suspiciouslyat his nephew.

Bob grinned. “Well, I thought that maybeyou would. Seeing that you’re the beststory-teller anyway.”

“Go long with your blarney. But I guessI will tell you one. It will be a sort of prologueto the rest of our stories. It’s aboutthe very first flyers and the very first famousflight.”

“The Wrights?” asked Hal.

“The Wrights,” said the Captain. “Wilburand Orville, and their first flight at KittyHawk, North Carolina.”