Jack Wright - Famous Flyers and Their Famous Flights

Bob Martin stood outside the large redbrick house and whistled. He whistled threenotes, a long and two short, which meantto Hal Gregg inside that Bob wanted tosee him, and to see him quickly. Somethingwas up. At least, that was what it shouldhave meant to Hal, but evidently it didn’t, because no answering whistle came out toBob, and no head appeared in any of thewindows.

Bob whistled again, this time a little moreshrilly, and he kept on whistling until apale, spectacled face appeared at an upstairswindow. The window was thrown open, and Bob shouted up before Hal Gregg hada chance to speak.

“Hey, what’s the idea of keeping mewaiting? Hurry up, come on down, I’vegot something great to tell you.”

“Hold your horses. I didn’t hear youwhistle at first. I was reading,” called downHal.

Bob snorted. “Put it away and hurry updown. Books can wait. You should hearthe news I’ve got to tell you.”

“The book’s swell,” said Hal. “It’s thatnew book on aviation I got for my birthday.Is your news more important than that?”

“You bet it is,” yelled Bob. “And if youaren’t down here in two seconds, I’m goingto keep it to myself. And won’t you besorry!”

Hal laughed. “I’ll be down in one second.I’m not going to have you knowinganything I don’t know. You’re too smartnow.” The dark head disappeared from thewindow, reappeared atop the narrow shouldersof its owner at the front door withina few seconds, bobbing about as he leapeddown the front steps two at a time. HalGregg joined his pal Bob under the mapletree on the Gregg front lawn.

The two boys made a strange contrast asthey flung themselves down in the shade ofthe tree. They were the same age, sixteen, with Hal having a little edge on his friend.But Bob could have passed for the otherboy’s big brother. He was a full head taller, his shoulders were broader, his complexionruddier. He was the typical outdoorboy, with tousled brown hair, a few unrulyfreckles, and a broad pleasant face. Hal Greggwas short and slight, with sloping narrowshoulders. His complexion was dark, andhis large, serious eyes were hidden behindshell-rimmed eye-glasses. Yet though theywere such a badly matched team, the twoboys were fast friends.

Their friendship had begun strangely. Inthe first place, they lived next door to eachother, on a quiet, shady side-street in thelarge city of Crowley. Bob had lived therefirst, while the red brick house next to hishad been empty for a long time. NobodyBob’s age had ever lived in that house, andhe had grown to look at it as an old fogeysort of a house, very dull, and fit only forgrownups. It didn’t seem as though youngpeople could ever live in it. So he’d beenpretty much excited when he found out thatthe house had been sold, and that a boy hisown age was going to move in.

But his first glimpse of Hal was a disappointedone. “Oh, golly, just my luck,”he said to his mother. “Somebody my ownage moves in next door at last, and lookwhat he turns out to be.”

Mrs. Martin had also caught a glimpseof Hal as he had got out of the automobilewith his mother, and entered the house. “Heseems to me to be a very nice boy,” she saidquietly.

“Nice! That’s just the point. He looksas though he’s so nice he’ll be as dull asditchwater. I’ll bet he’s the kind that can’ttell one airplane from another, and buyshis radio sets all made up, with twenty tubesand all kinds of gadgets. Lot of fun I’llhave with him!”

Mrs. Martin smiled and said nothing. Shewas a wise mother. She knew that if shepraised Hal too much he would seem justso much worse in her son’s eyes. So she resolvedto let him decide for himself, just asshe always let him decide, whether he wantedHal for a friend or not.

For several days Bob saw nothing of Hal, but one day, as he rode his bicycle up thedriveway that separated the two houses, heheard someone hail him. He looked overinto the Gregg yard and saw Hal there, stretched out in a steamer chair, an openbook in his lap. He looked very small andpuny. Bob got down from his bike. Hewas embarrassed. Hal hailed him again.“Come on over,” he called.

Bob got down and walked over to wherethe other boy was sitting. The meeting betweentwo strange boys is usually a hardone, with suspicion on both sides. But Halseemed surprisingly pleasant. “I’ve seen youriding around,” he said, “but I haven’t hada chance to call you before. I’m Hal Gregg.You’re Bob, aren’t you?”

“Sure,” grinned Bob. He was beginningto think that this Hal might not be sucha bad sort. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’m a Sherlock Holmes. Anyway,I’ve heard your mother calling to you.And if she calls you ‘Bob,’ that must beyour name.”

Bob laughed, “You’re right, she oughtto know,” he said. But he didn’t knowwhat to say next. Hal filled in the gap.

“You go swimming a lot, and bicycling, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Bob replied. “That’s about all afellow likes to do in summer. Don’t youswim?”

Hal’s forehead wrinkled. “My motherdoesn’t like me to go swimming,” he said.“I’ve never had a bike, either. You see, mymother’s always afraid that something’ll happento me. She hasn’t got anybody butme, you know. I haven’t got a father, orany other family. I guess that’s what makesMother so anxious about me.”

“My mother never seems to worry verymuch about me,” said Bob. “At least, shenever shows it.”

Hal looked at Bob enviously. “You don’thave to be worried about,” he said. “You’reas husky as they come.”

Bob felt himself getting warm. Thiswasn’t the way for a fellow to talk. Allof his friends called each other “shrimp”or “sawed-off,” no matter how big and huskythey might be. None of them ever showedsuch poor taste as to compliment afellow. He guessed, and correctly, that Halhadn’t been with boys enough to learn theproper boy code of etiquette. But he justsaid, “Aw, I’m not so husky,” which wasthe proper answer to a compliment, anyway.

“You sure are,” said Hal. “You see, Iwas a sickly child, and had to be taken careof all the time. I’m all right now, but mymother doesn’t seem to realize it. She stilltreats me as though I was about to breakout with the measles any minute. I guessthat’s about all I used to do when I was akid.”

“With measles?” laughed Bob. “I thoughtthat you could get those only once.”

“Oh, if it wasn’t measles, then somethingelse. Anyway, here I am.”

Bob’s opinion of the boy had sunk lowerand lower. He saw that they weren’t goingto get on at all. Why, the boy was nothingbut a mollycoddle, and not much fun.“What do you do for fun?” he asked, curiously.

“Oh, I read a lot,” said Hal, picking upthe book in his lap.

Bob’s mind was now more firmly madeup. A fellow who spent all his timereading was no fun at all. And he needn’t thinkthat Bob was going to encourage any friendship, either. “What’s the book?” he asked.

“A biography,” said Hal.

“Biography!” thought Bob, but he lookedat the title. It was a life of AdmiralByrd.

Bob’s eyes lighted up. “Oh, say,” hesaid, “is that good?”

“It’s great,” said Hal. “You know, Iread every book on aviators that comes out.I’ve always wanted to be one – an aviator, you know.”

Bob sat up and took notice. “Gee, youhave? Why, so have I. My Uncle Bill’san aviator. You ought to know him. Hewas in the war. Joined when he was justeighteen. I’m going to be an aviator, too.”

“You are? Have you ever been up?”

“No,” said Bob, “but I’m going someday. Bill’s going to teach me how to pilota plane. He’s promised. He’s coming tovisit us some time and bring his own plane.Dad takes me out to the airport wheneverhe can, and we watch the planes. I’ve neverhad a chance to go up, though.”