• Obvious typos and punctuation errors corrected, otherwise, variations in spelling
  retained.
  

“Orissa—The Flying Girl.”

The author wishes to acknowledge her indebtedness
to Mr. Glenn H. Curtiss and Mr. Wilbur
Wright for courtesies extended during the preparation
of this manuscript. These skillful and
clever aviators, pioneers to whom the Art of Flying
owes a colossal debt, do not laugh at any suggestion
concerning the future of the aëroplane,
for they recognize the fact that the discoveries
and inventions of the next year may surpass all
that have gone before. The world is agog with
wonder at what has been accomplished; even now
it is anticipating the time when vehicles of the
air will be more numerous than are automobiles
to-day.

The American youth has been no more interested
in the development of the science of aviation
than the American girl; she is in evidence at every
meet where aëroplanes congregate, and already
recognizes her competence to operate successfully
any aircraft that a man can manage. So the story
of Orissa Kane’s feats has little exaggeration except
in actual accomplishment, and it is possible
12her ventures may be emulated even before this
book is out of press. There are twenty women
aviators in Europe; in America are thousands of
girls ambitious to become aviators.

An apology may be due those gentlemen who
performed so many brilliant feats at the 1911 meet
at Dominguez, for having thrust them somewhat
into the shade to allow the story to exalt its heroine;
but they will understand the exigencies that
required this seeming discourtesy and will, the
author is sure, generously pardon her.

“May I go now, Mr. Burthon?” asked Orissa.

He looked up from his desk, stared a moment
and nodded. It is doubtful if he saw the girl, for
his eyes had an introspective expression.

Orissa went to a cabinet wardrobe and took
down her coat and hat. Turning around to put
them on she moved a chair, which squeaked on the
polished floor. The sound made Mr. Burthon shudder,
and aroused him as her speech had not done.

“Why, Miss Kane!” he exclaimed, regarding
her with surprise, “it is only four o’clock.”

“I know, sir,” said Orissa uneasily, “but the
mail is ready and all the deeds and transfers have
been made out for you to sign. I—I wanted an
extra hour, to-night, so I worked during lunch
time.”

“Oh; very well,” he said, stiffly. “But I do not
approve this irregularity, Miss Kane, and you
may as well understand it. I engage your services
14by the week, and expect you to keep regular
hours.”

“I won’t go, then,” she replied, turning to hang
up her coat.

“Yes, you will. For this afternoon I excuse
you,” he said, turning again to his papers.

Orissa did not wish to offend her employer. Indeed,
she could not afford to. This was her first
position, and because she was young and girlish in
appearance she had found it difficult to secure a
place. Perhaps it was because she had applied to
Mr. Burthon during one of his fits of abstraction
that she obtained the position at all; but she was
competent to do her work and performed it so
much better than any “secretary” the real estate
agent had before had that he would have been
as loth to lose her as she was to be dismissed.
But Orissa did not know that, and hesitated what
to do.

“Run along, Miss Kane,” said her employer,
impatiently; “I insist upon it—for to-night.”

So, being very anxious to get home early, the
girl accepted the permission and left the office,
feeling however a little guilty for having abridged
her time there.

She had a long ride before her. Leaving the
office at four o’clock meant reaching home forty
minutes later; so she hurried across the street
15and boarded a car marked “Beverly.” Los Angeles
is a big city, because it is spread from the
Pacific Ocean to the mountains—an extreme distance
of more than thirty miles. Yet it is of larger
extent than that would indicate, as country villages
for many miles in every direction are really
suburbs of the metropolis of Southern California
and the inhabitants ride daily into the city for
business or shopping.

It was toward one of these outlying districts
that Orissa Kane was now bound. They have
rapid transit in the Southwest, and the car,
headed toward the north but ultimately destined
to reach the sea by way of several villages, fairly
flew along the tracks. It was August and a glaring
sun held possession of a cloudless sky; but the
ocean breeze, which always arrives punctually the
middle of the afternoon, rendered the air balmy
and invigorating.

It was seldom that this young girl appeared
anywhere in public without attracting the attention
of any who chanced to glance into her sweet
face. Its contour was almost perfect and the
coloring exquisite. In addition she had a slender
form which she carried with exceeding grace and
a modest, winning demeanor that was more demure
and unconscious than shy.

Such a charming personality should have been
16clothed in handsome raiment; but, alas, poor Orissa’s
gown was the simplest of cheap lawns, and
of the ready-made variety the department stores
sell in their basements. It was not unbecoming,
nor was the coarse straw hat with its yard of
cotton-back ribbon; yet the case was stated to-day
very succinctly by a middle-aged gentleman
who sat with his wife in the car seat just behind
Orissa:

“If that girl was our daughter,” said he, “I’d
dress her nicely if it took half my income to do
it. Great Cæsar! hasn’t she anyone to love her,
or care for her? She seems to me like a beautiful
piece of bric-a-brac; something to set on a pedestal
and deck with jewels and laces, for all to
admire.”

“Pshaw!” returned the lady; “a girl like that
will be admired, whatever she wears.”

Orissa had plenty of love, bestowed by those
nearest and dearest to her, but circumstances had
reduced the family fortunes to a minimum and the
girl was herself to blame for a share of the
poverty the Kanes now endured.

The car let her off at a wayside station between
two villages. It was in a depression that might
properly be termed a valley, though of small extent,
and as the car rushed on and left her
standing beside a group of tall palms it at first
17appeared there were no houses at all in the
neighborhood.

But that was not so; a well defined path led
into a thicket of evergreens and then wound
through a large orange orchard. Beyond this was
a vine covered bungalow of the type so universal
in California; artistic to view but quite inexpensive
in construction.

High hedges of privet surrounded the place,
but above this, in the space back of the house, rose
the canvas covered top of a huge shed—something
so unusual and inappropriate in a place of
this character that it would have caused a
stranger to pause and gape with astonishment.

Orissa, however, merely glanced at the tent-like
structure as she hurried along the path. She
turned in at the open door of the bungalow, tossed
hat and jacket into a chair and then went to where
a sweet-faced woman sat in a morris chair knitting.
In a moment you would guess she was Orissa’s
mother, for although the features were worn
and thin there was a striking resemblance between
them and those of the fresh young girl stooping
to kiss her. Mrs. Kane’s eyes were the same turquoise
blue as her daughter’s; but, although
bright and wide open they lacked any expression,
for they saw nothing at all in our big, beautiful
world.

18“Aren’t you early, dear?” she asked.

“A whole hour,” said Orissa. “But I promised
Steve I’d try to get home at this time, for
he wants me to help him. Can I do anything for
you first, mamma?”

“No,” was the reply; “I am quite comfortable.
Run along, if Steve wants you.” Then she added,
in a playful tone: “Will there be any supper
to-night?”

“Oh, yes, indeed! I’ll break away in good season,
never fear. Last night I got into the crush
of the ‘rush hour,’ and the car was detained, so
both Steve and I forgot all about supper. I’ll
run and change my dress now.”

“I’m afraid the boy is working too hard,” said
Mrs. Kane, sighing. “The days are not half long
enough for him, and he keeps in his workshop, or
hangar, or whatever you call it, half the night.”

“True,” returned Orissa, with a laugh; “but it
is not work for Steve, you know; it’s play. He’s
like a child with a new toy.”

“I hope it will not prove a toy, in the end,” remarked
Mrs. Kane, gravely. “So much depends
upon his success.”

“Don’t worry, dear,” said the girl, brightly.
“Steve is making our fortune, I’m sure.”

But as she discarded the lawn for a dark gingham
in her little chamber, Orissa’s face was more
19serious than her words and she wondered—as
she had wondered hundreds of times—whether
her brother’s great venture would bring them
ruin or fortune.

The Kanes had come to California some three
years previous because of Mr. Kane’s impaired
health. He had been the manager of an important
manufacturing company in the East, on a
large salary for many years, and his family had
lived royally and his children been given the best
education that money could procure. Orissa attended
a famous girls’ school and Stephen went to
college. But suddenly the father’s health broke
and his physicians offered no hope for his life
unless he at once migrated to a sunny clime where
he might be always in the open air. He came to
California and invested all his savings—not a
great deal—in the orange ranch. Three months
later he died, leaving his blind wife and two children
without any financial resources except what
might be gleaned from the ranch. Fortunately
the boy, Stephen, had just finished his engineering
course at Cornell and was equipped—theoretically,
at least—to begin a career with one of the
best paying professions known to modern times.
21Mechanical to his finger tips, Stephen Kane had
eagerly absorbed every bit of information placed
before him and had been graduated so well that
a fine position was offered him in New York, with
opportunity for rapid advancement.

Mr. Kane’s death prevented the young man
from accepting this desirable offer. He was
obliged to go to Los Angeles to care for his mother
and sister. It was a difficult situation for an inexperienced
boy to face, but he attacked the problem
with the same manly courage that had enabled
him to conquer Euclid and Calculus at school, and
in the end arranged his father’s affairs fairly well.

The oranges from the ranch would give them
a net income of about two thousand dollars a year,
which was far from meaning poverty, although
much less than the family expenditures had previously
been. There were other fruits on the
place, an ample vegetable garden and a flock of
chickens, so the Kanes believed they would live
very comfortably on their income. In addition to
this, Steve could earn a salary as a mechanical
engineer, or at least he believed he could.

He found, however, after many unsuccessful
attempts, that his professional field was amply
covered by experienced men, and as a temporary
makeshift he was finally driven to accept a position
in an automobile repair shop.

22“It’s an awful comedown, Ris,” he said to
Orissa, his confidant, “but I can’t afford to loaf
any longer, you know, and the pay is almost as
much as a young engineer gets to start with. So
I’ll tackle it and keep my eye open for something
better.”

While Stephen was employed in this repair
shop a famous aviator named Willard came to
town with his aëroplane and met with an accident
that badly disabled his machine. Although aviators
have marked Southern California as their
chosen field from the beginning, because one may
fly there all winter, there was not a place in the
city where a specialty was made of repairing airships.
Naturally Mr. Willard sought an automobile
repair shop as the one place most liable to
supply his needs.

The manager shook his head.

“We know nothing about biplanes,” he
confessed.

“Pardon me, sir,” said Stephen Kane, who was
present, “I know something about airships, and
I am sure I can repair Mr. Willard’s, if you will
take the job.”

The aviator turned to him gratefully.

“Thank you,” he said; “I’ll put my machine
in your hands. What experience have you had
with biplanes of this type?”

23“None at all,” was the answer; “but I am sure
you will not find an experienced airship man in
this city. I’ve studied the devices, though, ever
since Montgomery made his first flights, and as we
have all the requisite tools and machinery here
I am sure, with your assistance and direction, I
can readily put your machine into perfect
condition.”

He did, performing the work excellently. Before
long another biplane needed repairs, and
Stephen was recommended by Mr. Willard.
Later a Curtiss machine came under Steve’s
hands, and then an Antoinette monoplane. The
manager raised the young fellow’s salary, proud
that he had a man competent to repair these new-fangled
inventions which were creating such a
stir throughout the country.

Stephen Kane might have continued to follow
the calling of an expert aëroplane doctor with
marked success, had he been an ordinary young
mechanic. But the air castles he had built at college
were not all dissipated, as yet, and aside from
possessing decided talent as a workman Steve had
an inventive genius that promised great things
for his future. By the time he had taken a half
dozen different aëroplanes apart and repaired
them he had a thorough knowledge of their construction
and requirements, and the best of them
24seemed to him wholly inadequate for the purpose
for which they were planned.

“The fact is, Ris,” he said to Orissa one evening,
after he had been poring over a book on air
currents, “the airships of to-day are all experimental,
and chock full of mistakes. No two are
anywhere near alike, and each man thinks he has
the only correct mechanism.”

“But they fly,” answered the girl, who was
keenly interested in the subject of aviation and
had twice been down to the shop to examine the
aëroplanes Steve was repairing.

“So they do; they fly, after a fashion,” admitted
the young man, “which fully proves the
thing can be accomplished. But present machines
are all too complicated, and the planes seem to
have been shaped by guesswork, rather than common
sense. They fuss with motors and propellers
and ignore the sustaining mechanism, which
is the most vital principle of all. Some day we
shall see the sky full of successful aviators, and
flying will be as common as automobiling now is;
but when that time comes we shall laugh at the
crude devices they brag of to-day.”

“That may be true,” returned the girl, thoughtfully;
“but isn’t it true of every great invention,
that the first models are imperfect?”

“Quite true,” said he. “I can make a better
25biplane than any I have seen, but I admit that had
I not had the advantage of seeing any I might
have blundered as all the rest seem to have done.”

“Why don’t you make one, Steve?” asked
Orissa impulsively. “If aviation is going to become
general the man who builds the best aëroplane
will make his fortune.”

Steve flushed and rose to tramp up and down
the room before he answered. Then he stopped
before his sister and said in low, intense accents:

“I long to make one, Orissa! The idea has
taken possession of my thoughts until it has almost
driven me crazy. I can make a machine that
will fly better and be more safe and practical than
either the Wright or Curtiss machines. But the
thing is impossible. I—I haven’t the money.”

Orissa sat staring at the rug for a long time.
Finally she asked:

“How much money would it take, Steve?”

He hesitated.

“I don’t know. I’ve never figured it out.
What’s the use?”

“There is use in everything,” declared his sister,
calmly. “Get to work and figure. Find out
how much you need, and then we’ll see if we can
manage it.”

He gazed at her as if bewildered. Then he
turned and left the room without a word.

26A few evenings later he handed her an estimate.

“I think it could be done for three thousand dollars,”
he remarked. “Which means, of course,
it can’t be done at all.”

Orissa took the paper without replying and pondered
over it for several days. She was only
seventeen, but had inherited her father’s clear,
business-grasping mind, and would have been an
essentially practical girl had not her youth and
inexperience lent her some illusions that time
would dissipate.

Stephen posed as the “head of the family;”
but Orissa really directed its finances, poor Mrs.
Kane being so helpless that her children never
depended upon her for counsel but on the contrary
kept all business matters from her, lest she worry
over them. The one maid employed in the bungalow
served Mrs. Kane almost exclusively, while
Orissa always had devoted much time to her
mother, who had been stricken blind at the time of
her daughter’s birth.

One evening, when brother and sister were in
the garden together, the girl said:

“I believe I have discovered a plan that will
permit you to build your airship. What is it to
be, Steve; a biplane or a monoplane?”

“Let me hear your plan,” was the eager reply.

“Well, I’ve been to see Mr. Wentworth, and he
27will advance us fifteen hundred on our orange
crop, by discounting the price ten per cent. He
came and looked at the trees and said they were
safe to pay us at least twenty-three hundred dollars
next February.”

“But—Orissa!—how could we live, with our
income cut down that way—to a mere seven or
eight hundred dollars?”

“I’m going to work,” she said quietly. “I’m
tired of doing nothing but dig around the garden
and cook. Mamma doesn’t need me, at least during
the day, so I’m going into business.”

Steve smiled.

“You work, Orissa? What on earth could you
do?”

“I’ll find something to do. And my salary,
added to yours, will make up for the loss of the
orange money. We must economize, of course;
but when we’ve such a big deal on hand—one
that will make our fortune—we can put up with a
few temporary discomforts.”

“But fifteen hundred won’t build the thing, that
is certain,” he said, with a sigh. “I’ve got to
construct an entirely new motor—engine and all—and
some original propellers and elevators, and
the patterns and castings for these will be rather
expensive.”

“Well, by the time the fifteen hundred are
28gone,” she replied, “you will know exactly how
much more money is needed, and we will mortgage
the place for that amount.”

“Rubbish!” cried Stephen, impatiently. “I
won’t listen an instant to such a wild plan. Suppose
I fail?”

“Oh, if you’re going to fail we won’t undertake
it,” said his sister. “You claimed you could
make a better airship than the Curtiss or the
Wright—either one of which is worth a fortune—and
I believed you. If you were only joking,
Steve, we won’t talk of it any more.”

“I wasn’t joking; or bragging, either; you
know that, Orissa. I’m pretty sure of my idea;
but it’s untried. I’ve bought all the books on
aviation I can find and I’ve been reading of Professor
Montgomery’s discovery of the laws of
air currents and his theories concerning them.
They’re only primers, dear, for the science of
aviation is as yet unwritten. That is why I cannot
speak with perfect assurance; but the more I look
into the thing the more positive I am that I’ve
hit upon the right idea of aërial navigation.”

“What is your idea?” she asked.

“To simplify the construction of the craft. The
present devices are all too complicated and keep
the aviator too busy while he’s in the air.”

“In other words, he’s all up in the air while
he’s up in the air,” she remarked.

29“Precisely. Most of his time is required to
maintain a lateral balance, so as not to tip over or
lose control. I’m to have a simpler construction,
an automatic balance, and a plane only large
enough to support the machinery and the aviator.”

“If you can manage that,” said Orissa, “we’re
not taking any chances.”

He sat with furrowed brow, thinking deeply.
Finally he said in a decisive way:

“Nothing is certain until it is accomplished. I
won’t take the risk of making you and mother
paupers. Please don’t speak of the thing again,
Ris.”

Orissa didn’t; but Steve did, about a month
later. A great aviation meet had been arranged
at Dominguez Field, near Los Angeles and only
a few miles from their own home. The event,
which was destined to be an epoch in the history of
aviation, brought many famous aviators to the
city with their machines, among them a Frenchman
named Paulhan, with whom Stephen soon became
acquainted. An examination of Paulhan’s
machine, a Farman of the latest type, which had
already performed marvels, served to convince
the boy that his own ideas were not only practical
but destined soon to be discovered and applied by
someone else if he himself failed to take advantage
of the time and opportunity to utilize them.
30With that argument to calm any misgivings that
he might perhaps fail, coupled with an eagerness
to build his invention that drove him to forsake
caution, Steve went to Orissa one day and said:

“All right, dear; I’m going to undertake the
thing. Can you still get Mr. Wentworth to advance
the money?”

“I think so,” she replied.

“Then get it, and I’ll start work at once. The
drawings are already complete,” and he showed
them to her, neatly traced in comprehensive detail.

Most girls would have been bewildered by the
technicalities and passed the drawings with a
glance; but Orissa understood how important to
them all this venture was destined to be, so she
sat down and studied the designs minutely, making
her brother explain anything she found the
least puzzling. By this time the girl had made
herself familiar with the latest modern improvements
in aëroplanes and had personally examined
several of the best devices, so she was able to
catch the true value of Stephen’s idea and immediately
became as enthusiastic as he was.

The money was raised and placed by Stephen
in a bank where he could draw upon it as he
needed it. Mrs. Kane concurred mildly in the
plans when they were explained to her, being accustomed
to lean upon Orissa and Stephen and to
31accept their judgment without protest. Aviation
was all Greek to the poor woman and she did not
bother her head trying to understand why people
wanted to fly, or how they might accomplish their
desire.

Stephen set up his workshop at home, devoting
his evenings to the new aëroplane. Progress was
necessarily slow, as four or five hours out of each
twenty-four were all he could devote to his
enterprise.

The boy was still employed in this manner when
the Aviation Meet was held at Dominguez Field
and Paulhan accomplished the wonderful flights
that made him world famous. Of course, Orissa
and Stephen were present and did not miss a
single event. On the grand stand beside them
sat a young fellow Stephen had often met at the
automobile shop, a chauffeur named Arch Hoxsey.
It was the first time Hoxsey had ever seen an aëroplane,
and neither he nor Stephen could guess
that within one year this novice would become the
greatest aviator in all the world. These are days
when, comet-like, a heretofore unknown aviator
appears, accomplishes marvels and disappears,
eclipsed by some new master of the art of flying.
It is the same way with aëroplanes; the leading
33one to-day is within a brief period destined to be
surpassed by a greatly improved machine.

The enthusiasm of the Kanes rose to fever heat
in witnessing this exhibition, at the time the most
remarkable ever held in the annals of aviation.
Afterward they counseled together very seriously
and agreed that it would be better for Steve to
resign his position at the shop and devote his
whole time to his aëroplane, in which he had now
more confidence than ever.

He applied for patents on his various devices
and the complete machine, being fearful that
someone else might adopt his ideas before he could
finish his first aëroplane; yet at the same time he
observed the utmost secrecy as to the work on
which he was engaged and admitted no person except
Orissa to the garden, where he had set up
his hangar and shop.

The girl had been for some time persistently
seeking employment, for now that Steve had
ceased to be a breadwinner it was more important
than ever for her to earn money. By good fortune
she was engaged by Mr. Burthon as his
secretary the very week following her brother’s
retirement.

Steve’s expenses were growing greater, however,
and Orissa began figuring on “ways and
means.” Their life in this retired place was so
34simple that she believed her mother could do without
the maid and questioned her on the subject.
Mrs. Kane declared she preferred to be alone, if
Orissa felt she could prepare the breakfasts and
dinners unaided. Luncheons at home were very
plain affairs and Steve readily agreed to come
into the house at noon and get a bite for himself
and his mother. So the maid was dismissed and
a considerable expense eliminated.

During the summer construction of the airship
progressed more rapidly and, after the motors
were completed and tested and found to be
nearly perfect, Steve began to model the planes
and perfect his automatic balance.

It was hard work sometimes for Orissa to sit in
the office and keep her mind on her work when
she knew her brother was completing or testing
some important detail of the aëroplane, but she
held herself in rigid restraint and succeeded in
giving satisfaction to her employer.

On the August afternoon on which our story
opens Stephen Kane was to begin the final assembling
of the parts of his machine, after which
he could test it in real flight. He needed Orissa’s
assistance to help him handle some of the huge
ribbed planes, and so she had promised to come
home early.

It was not long before she entered the hangar,
35arrayed in her old gingham, which allowed her
to move freely. The two became so interested
that Mrs. Kane almost missed her dinner in spite
of the girl’s promise; but Orissa did manage to
tear herself away from the fascinating task long
enough to prepare the meal and serve it. Steve
came in and tried to eat, for he was at a point
where he could do nothing without his sister’s
help; but neither of them was able to swallow
more than a morsel, and as quickly as possible
hurried back to their work.

Mrs. Kane, although totally blind, knew her
way about the house perfectly and was able to
take care of herself in nearly all ways; so when
bedtime came she abandoned her monotonous
knitting, played a few pieces on the pianoforte—one
of her few amusements—and then calmly retired
for the night. She never worried over the
“children,” believing they were competent to care
for themselves.

It was long past midnight before Steve got to
a point where he could continue without Orissa.
“In about three days more,” he said, as they
washed up and prepared to adjourn to the house,
“I will be able to make my first flight. Shall
we wait till Sunday, Ris, or will you take a day
off?”

“Oh, not Sunday,” she replied. However eager
36her brother might be she had never yet allowed
him to work a moment on a Sunday, and Steve deferred
to her wishes in this regard. “We’re
pretty busy at the office and Mr. Burthon was inclined
to be a little cranky to-day; but I’ll manage
it somehow, just as soon as you are ready.”

“What sort of a fellow is Burthon?” asked her
brother, somewhat curiously.

“Why, he stands well in the business world, I’m
told, and is very successful in handling large tracts
of real estate,” she replied. “Also, he seems a
gentleman by birth and breeding, yet a queerer
man I never met. His chief peculiarity is in being
very absent-minded, but he does other odd
things. Yesterday he refused to sell a piece of
land to a customer because he did not like him,
and he told the man so with rude frankness. One
day I discovered he had cheated another man out
of six hundred dollars. I called his attention to
what I described as a ‘mistake,’ and he said he
robbed the man on purpose, because he had been
snobbish and overbearing. He gave the six hundred
dollars to a poor woman to build her a house
with, saying to me that he had once committed a
serious crime for which this was in part penance,
and soon after he platted a lot of swamp land
down near San Pedro and advertised it as ‘desirable
residence property.’ Really, Steve, I can’t
quite make out Mr. Burthon.”

37“He seems to have good and bad points, from
what you say,” observed her brother, “and I
judge the two qualities are about evenly mixed.
Is he nice to you, Ris?”

“He is always polite and respectful, but most
of the time he doesn’t know I’m in existence.
When he gets one of his absorbed fits his eyes
look right through me, as if I wasn’t there.”

“Perhaps he is thinking out some big schemes.
Is he a rich man?”

“He is said to be quite wealthy. But he is an
old bachelor, and the girl across the hall says he
lives at a club, goes to the theater every night and
drinks more than is good for him. I hardly believe
that last, Steve, for Mr. Burthon doesn’t
look a bit like a drinking man.”

“Perhaps he’s a morphine fiend. That would
make him absent-minded, you know.”

“No; when he’s aroused his head is clear as a
bell and he drives a shrewd bargain. Do you
know, Steve, I’m inclined to think that speech of
his was in earnest, although he laughed harshly
at the time, and that—that—”

“That what?”

“That at some time or other he has committed
some crime that worries him.”

Orissa was tired next day and she blundered
several times in copying deeds and attending to
the routine of the private office, where she alone
was closeted with the proprietor. But Mr. Burthon
would not have noticed had she set fire to
the place, so intent was he upon a bundle of papers
he had brought in with him and to which he
devoted his exclusive attention.

The girl left him at his desk when she went to
lunch and found him there, still occupied with the
papers, when she returned. Several people
wanted to see him personally, but he told Orissa
to state he was engaged and could admit no one.
She gave the message to the young man in charge
of the outer office, where several clerks were employed,
and they knew better than to allow anyone
to invade Mr. Burthon’s private sanctum.

At about three o’clock, while she was busy at
her desk, the secretary heard her name spoken
and looked up. From his chair Mr. Burthon was
39eyeing her observantly. His gaze was clear and
intelligent; the abstracted mood had passed.

“Come here, please, Miss Kane,” he said.

She brought her writing pad and sat down beside
his desk, as she did when he dictated his letters;
but he shook his head.

“We’ll not mind the mail to-day,” he said.
“I want to talk with you; to advise with you.
Queerly enough, Miss Kane, there isn’t a soul
on earth in whom I can confide when occasion
arises. In other words, I haven’t an intimate
friend I can trust, or one who is sincerely interested
in me.”

That embarrassed Orissa a little. Since she
had been working at the office this was the first
time he had addressed a remark to her not connected
with the business. Indeed, the man was
now regarding her much as he would a curiosity,
as if he had just discovered her. She was amazed
to hear him speak so confidentially and made no
reply because she had nothing to say.

After a pause he continued:

“You haven’t much business experience, my
child, but you have a keen intellect and decided
opinions.” Orissa wondered how he knew that.
“Therefore I am going to ask your advice in a
matter where business is blended with sentiment.
Will you be good enough to give me your candid
opinion?”

40“If you wish me to, sir,” she said, after some
hesitation.

“Thank you, Miss Kane. The case is this:
With four others I purchased some time ago a
gold mine in Arizona known as the ‘Queen of
Hearts.’ It cost me about all I am worth—some
two hundred thousand dollars.”

Orissa gasped. It seemed an enormous sum.
But he continued, speaking calmly and clearly:

“I thought at the time the mine was surely
worth a million. I went to see it and found the
ore exceedingly rich. The others, who purchased
the Queen of Hearts with me, were equally deceived,
for just recently we have discovered that
the rich vein was either very narrow or was placed
there by those we purchased from, with the intention
of defrauding us. In either case, please understand
that the mine is not worth a cotton hat.
We are a stock company, and our stock is listed
on the exchange and commands a high premium,
for no one except the owners knows the truth
about it. The general idea is that the mine is
still producing largely—and it is—for, to protect
ourselves until we can unload it on to others, we
have secretly purchased rich ore elsewhere,
dumped it into the mine, and then taken it out
again.”

He paused, drumming absently on the desk with
his fingers, and Orissa asked:

41“What is the object of that deception, sir?”

“To maintain the public delusion until we can
sell out. And now I come to the point of my story,
Miss Kane. Gold mines, even as rich as the Queen
of Hearts is reputed to be, are not easy to sell. I
have exhausted all my resources in keeping up
this deception and the time has come when I must
sell or become bankrupt. The other stockholders
have smaller interests and are wealthier men, but
each one is striving hard to secure a customer. I
have found one.”

He looked up and smiled at her; then he
frowned.

“The man is my brother-in-law,” he added.

Orissa was getting nervous, but waited for him
to continue.

“This brother-in-law is a man I detest. He
married my only sister and did not treat her well.
He is a notorious gambler and confidence man,
although perhaps he would not admit that is his
profession. At all events he had the assurance to
sneer at me and abuse my sister, and I was powerless
at the time to interfere. Fortunately the
poor woman died several years ago. Since then
I have not seen much of Cumberford, for he lives
in the East. He came out here last month on
some small business matter and has gone crazy
over the Queen of Hearts mine. He hunted me up
42and asked if I’d sell part of my stock. I told him
I would sell all or none. So he has been getting
his money together and has raised two hundred
and fifty thousand dollars—the sum I demanded.”

Orissa was looking at him wonderingly. The
story seemed incredible. Perhaps Mr. Burthon
saw the dismay and reproach in her eyes, for he
asked:

“What do you think of this deal, Miss Kane?
Am I not fortunate?”

“But—would you really sell a worthless property
to this man—your own brother-in-law—and—and
steal a fortune from him?” she inquired.

The man flushed and shifted uneasily in his
seat.

“He abused my sister,” he said, as if defending
himself.

“The property is worthless,” she persisted.

“He can hustle around and sell it again, as I
am doing.”

“Suppose he fails? Suppose he refuses to do
such a wicked thing?”

Mr. Burthon stared at her a moment. Then
he laughed harshly.

“Cumberford would delight in such a ‘wicked’
game,” he replied. “And, if he failed to sell,
the scoundrel would be ruined, for I believe this
two hundred and fifty thousand is about all he’s
worth.”

43“It’s dreadful!” exclaimed the girl, really
shocked.

“It is done every day in a business way,” he
rejoined.

“Then why did you ask my advice?” demanded
the girl, quickly. Before answering he waited to
drum on the desk with his fingers again.

“Because,” said he, speaking slowly, “I dislike
this man so passionately that I have wondered if
the hatred blinds my judgment. He may be dangerous,
too, yet I think he is too much of a fool to
be able to injure me in retaliation. I don’t know
him very well. I’ve not seen him before for
years.” He paused, taking note of the horror
spreading over the girl’s face. Then he smiled
and added in a gentler voice: “Perhaps my chief
reason, however, for seeking your advice is that
I find I have still a conscience. Yes, yes; a troublesome
conscience. I have been suppressing it
for years, yet like Banquo’s ghost it will not down.
My business judgment determines me to unload
this worthless stock and save myself from the loss
of my entire fortune. I must do it. It is like a
man taking unawares a counterfeit coin, and then,
discovering it is spurious, passing it on to some innocent
victim. You might do that yourself, Miss
Kane.”

“I do not believe I would.”

44“Well, most people would, and think it no crime.
In this case I’m merely passing a counterfeit,
that I received innocently, on to another innocent.
If the fact is ever known my business friends will
applaud me. But that obstinate conscience of
mine keeps asking the question: ‘Is it safe?’ It
asserts that I am filled with glee because I am selling
to a man I hate—a man who has indirectly injured
me. I am to get revenge as well as save
my money. Safe? Of course it’s safe. Yet my—er—conscience—the
still small voice—keeps
digging at me to be careful. It doesn’t seem to
like the idea of dealing with Cumberford, and has
been annoying me for several days. So I thought
I would put the case to a young, pure-minded girl
who has a clear head and is honest. I imagined
you would tell me to go ahead. Then I could afford
to laugh at cautious Mr. Conscience.”

“No,” said Orissa, gravely, “the conscience is
right. But you misunderstand its warning. It
doesn’t mean that the act is not safe from a
worldly point of view, but from a moral standpoint.
You could not respect yourself, Mr.
Burthon, if you did this thing.”

He sighed and turned to his papers. Orissa
hesitated. Then, impulsively, she asked:

“You won’t do it, sir; will you?”

“Yes, Miss Kane; I think I shall.”

45His tone had changed. It was now hard and
cold.

“Mr. Cumberford will call here to-morrow
morning at nine, to consummate the deal,” he
continued. “See that we are not disturbed, Miss
Kane.”

“But, sir—”

He turned upon her almost fiercely, but at sight
of her distressed, downcast face a kindlier look
came to his eyes.

“Remember that the alternative would be ruin,”
he said gently. “I would be obliged to give up
my business—these offices—and begin life anew.
You would lose your position, and—”

“Oh, I won’t mind that!” she exclaimed.

“Don’t you care for it, then?”

“Yes; for I need the money I earn. But to do
right will not ruin either of us, sir.”

“Perhaps not; but I’m not going to do right—as
you see it. I shall follow my business
judgment.”

Orissa was indignant.

“I shall save you from yourself, then,” she
cried, standing before him like an accusing angel.
“I warn you now, Mr. Burthon, that when Mr.
Cumberford calls I shall tell him the truth about
your mine, and then he will not buy it.”

He looked at her curiously, reflectively, for a
46long time, as if he beheld for the first time some
rare and admirable thing. The man was not angered.
He seemed not even annoyed by her
threat. But after that period of disconcerting
study he turned again to his desk.

“Thank you, Miss Kane. That is all.”

She went back to her post, trembling nervously
from the excitement of the interview, and tried to
put her mind on her work. Mr. Burthon was
wholly unemotional and seemed to have forgotten
her presence. But, a half hour later, when he
thrust the papers into his pocket, locked his desk
and took his hat to go, he paused beside his secretary,
gazed earnestly into her face a moment and
then abruptly turned away.

“Good night, Miss Kane,” he said, and his voice
seemed to dwell tenderly on her name.

That night Orissa confided the whole story to
Steve. Her brother listened thoughtfully and
then inquired:

“Will you really warn Mr. Cumberford, Ris?”

“I—I ought to,” she faltered.

“Then do,” he returned. “To my notion Burthon
is playing a mean trick on the fellow, and no
good business man would either applaud or respect
him for it. Your employer is shifty, Orissa; I’m
sure of it; if I were you I’d put a stop to his game
no matter what came of it.”

“Very well, Steve; I’ll do it. But I don’t believe
Mr. Burthon means to be a bad man. His
plea about his conscience proves that. But—but—”

“It’s worse for a man to realize he’s doing
wrong, and then do it, than if he were too hardened
to have any conscience at all,” asserted Steve
oracularly.

“And if I let him do this wrong act I would be
as guilty as he,” she added.

48“That’s true, Ris. You’ll lose your job, sure
enough, but there will be another somewhere just
as good.”

So, when Mr. Burthon’s secretary went to the
office next morning she was keyed up to do the
most heroic deed that had ever come to her hand.
Whatever the consequences might be, the girl was
determined to waylay Mr. Cumberford when he
arrived and tell him the truth about the Queen of
Hearts.

But he did not come to the office at nine o’clock.
Neither had Mr. Burthon arrived at that time.
Orissa, her heart beating with trepidation but
strong in resolve, watched the clock nearing the
hour, passing it, and steadily ticking on in the
silence of the office. The outer room was busy
this morning, and in the broker’s absence his secretary
was called upon to perform many minor
tasks; but her mind was more upon the clock than
upon her work.

Ten o’clock came. Eleven. At half past eleven
the door swung open and Mr. Burthon ushered in
a strange gentleman whom Orissa at once decided
was Mr. Cumberford. He was extremely tall and
thin and stooped somewhat as he walked. He had
a long, grizzled mustache, wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses
and carried a gold-headed cane. From
his patent leather shoes to his chamois gloves he
49was as neat and sleek as if about to attend a
reception.

Observing the presence of a young lady the
stranger at once removed his hat, showing his
head to be perfectly bald.

“Sit down, Cumberford,” said Mr. Burthon,
carelessly.

As he obeyed, Orissa, her face flaming red, advanced
to a position before him and exclaimed in
a pleading voice:

“Oh, sir, do not buy Mr. Burthon’s mine, I beg
of you!”

The man stared at her with faded gray eyes
which were enlarged by the lenses of his spectacles.
Mr. Burthon smiled, seemed interested,
and watched the scene with evident amusement.

“Why not, my child?” asked Mr. Cumberford.

“Because it is worthless—absolutely worthless!”
she declared.

He turned to the other man.

“Eh, Burthon?” he muttered, inquiringly.

“Miss Kane believes she is speaking the truth,”
said the broker jauntily.

“Oh, she does. And you, Burthon?”

“I? Why, I’m of the same opinion.”

Mr. Cumberford took out his handkerchief, removed
his glasses and polished the lenses with
a thoughtful air. Orissa was trembling with
nervousness.

50“Don’t buy the Queen of Hearts, sir; it would
ruin you,” she repeated earnestly.

He breathed upon the glasses and wiped them
carefully.

“You interest me,” he remarked. “But, the
fact is, I—er—I’ve bought it.”

“Already!”

“At nine o’clock, according to agreement. Burthon
sent word he’d come to my hotel instead of
meeting me at his office, as first planned.”

“Oh, I see!” cried Orissa, much disappointed.
“He knew I would prevent the crime.”

“Crime, miss?”

“Is it not a crime to rob you of two hundred and
fifty thousand dollars?”

“It would be, of course. I should dislike to lose
so much money.”

“You have lost it!” declared the girl. “That
mine has no gold in it at all—except what has been
bought elsewhere and placed in it to deceive a
purchaser.”

Mr. Cumberford replaced his glasses, adjusting
them carefully upon his nose. Then he stared at
Orissa again.

“You’re an honest young woman,” he said
calmly. “I’m much obliged. You interest me.
But—ahem!—Burthon has my money, you see.”

Mr. Burthon’s expression had changed. He was
51now regarding his brother-in-law with a curious
and puzzled gaze.

“You’re not angry, Cumberford?” he asked.

“No, Burthon.”

“You’re not even annoyed, I take it?” This
with something of a sneer.

“No, Burthon.”

Both Orissa and her employer were amazed.
Looking from one to another, Mr. Cumberford’s
waxen features relaxed into a smile.

“I’ve placed my Queen of Hearts stock in a
safety deposit vault,” he remarked blandly.

“I have deposited your money in my bank,”
retorted Mr. Burthon, triumphantly.

“Excellent!” said the other. “The thing interests
me—indeed it does. You couldn’t purchase
that stock from me at this moment, Burthon, for
twice the sum I paid you.”

“No? And why not?”

“I’ll tell you. I had not intended to refer to
the matter just yet, but this young woman’s exposé
of your attempted trickery induces me to explain
matters. You have always taken me for a
fool, Burthon.”

“I’ve tried to place a proper value on your intellect,
Cumberford.”

“You have little talent in that line, believe me.
Before I came out here I had heard such glowing
52reports of the Queen of Hearts that I stopped off
in Arizona to see the wonderful mine. The manager
was very polite and showed me about, but
somehow I got a notion that all was not square and
aboveboard. I’ve always been interested in
mines; they fascinate me; and if this mine was as
rich as reported I wanted some of the stock. But
I imagined things looked a little queer, so I sent a
confidential agent—fellow named Brewster, who
has been with me for years—to hire out as a miner
and keep his eyes open. He soon discovered the
truth—that the mine was being ‘salted’ or fed with
outside gold ore in precisely the way this girl has
stated.”

He turned to Orissa with a profound bow, then
looked toward Burthon again. “The thing interested
me. I wondered why, and wired my man
to stay on a little longer, till I had time to think
it over. I—er—think very slowly. Very. In a
few days Brewster telegraphed me the startling
intelligence that the mine had actually struck a
new lead, with ore far richer than the first showing,
although that had made the Queen of Hearts
famous. My man had been sent to the telegraph
office with messages from the manager to Mr.
Burthon and the four other stockholders; but poor
Brewster’s memory is bad, and he forgot to send
a telegram to anyone but me. Of course the great
53strike—er—interested me. I instructed Brewster
over the telegraph wire. At a cost of five thousand
dollars we bribed the manager to keep the
valuable strike secret for ten days. He’s an
honest man, and I shall retain him in the office.
The ten days expire to-night. Meantime, I’ve
purchased the stock.”

Mr. Burthon sprang to his feet, white with
anger.

“You scoundrel!” he shouted.

“Don’t get excited, Burthon. This is a mere
business incident, between man and man—and a
girl.” Another bow toward Orissa. “You tried
to rob me, sir, and sneered when you thought you
had succeeded. I haven’t robbed you, for I paid
your price; but I’ve made a very neat investment.
My stock is worth a million at this moment. Interesting,
isn’t it?”

Mr. Burthon recovered himself with an effort
and sat down again.

“Very well,” he said a little thickly. “As you
say, it’s all in the way of business. Good day,
Cumberford.”

The other man arose and faced Orissa, who
stood by wholly bewildered by this unexpected
development.

“Thank you again, my child. Your name?
Orissa Kane. I’ll remember it. You tried to do
me a kindness. Interesting—very!”

54Without another glance at Mr. Burthon he put
on his hat, walked out and closed the door softly
behind him.

Orissa looked up and found the broker’s eyes
regarding her intently.

“I—I’m sorry, sir,” she stammered; “but I
had to do it, to satisfy my conscience. I suppose I
am dismissed?”

“No, indeed, Miss Kane,” he returned in kindly
tones. “An honest secretary is too rare an acquisition
to be dismissed without just cause. Having
told you what I did, I could expect you to act
in no other way.”

“And, after all, sir,” she said, brightening at
the thought, “you did not rob him! Yet you saved
your fortune.”

He made a slight grimace, and then laughed
frankly.

“Had I taken your advice,” he rejoined, “I
should now be worth a million.”

Stephen Kane had scarcely slept a wink for
three nights. When Orissa came home Thursday
evening he met her at the car with the news that
his aëroplane was complete.

“I’ve been adjusting it and testing the working
parts all the afternoon,” he said, his voice
tense with effort to restrain his excitement, “and
I’m ready for the trial whenever you say.”

“All right, Steve,” she replied briskly; “it begins
to be daylight at about half past four, this
time of year; shall we make the trial at that hour
to-morrow morning?”

“I couldn’t wait longer than that,” he admitted,
pressing her arm as they walked along.
“My idea is to take it into old Marston’s
pasture.”

“Isn’t the bull there?” she inquired.

“Not now. Marston has kept the bull shut up
the past few days. And it’s the best place for the
trial, for there’s lots of room.”

56“Let’s take a look at it, Steve!” she said,
hastening her steps.

In the big, canvas covered shed reposed the
aëroplane, its spreading white sails filling the
place almost to the very edges. It was neither a
monoplane nor a biplane, according to accepted
ideas of such machines, but was what Steve called
“a story-and-a-half flyer.”

“That is, I hope it’s a flyer,” he amended,
while Orissa stared with admiring eyes, although
she already knew every stick and stitch by heart.

“Of course it’s a flyer!” she exclaimed. “I
wouldn’t be afraid to mount to the moon in that
airship.”

“All that witches need is a broomstick,” he
said playfully. “But perhaps you’re not that
sort of a witch, little sister.”

“What shall we call it, Steve?” she asked, seriously.
“Of course it’s a biplane, because there
are really two planes, one being above the other;
but it is not in the same class with other biplanes.
We must have a distinctive name for it.”

“I’ve thought of calling it the ‘Kane Aircraft,’”
he answered. “How does that strike
you?”

“It has an original sound,” Orissa said.
“Oh, Steve! couldn’t we try it to-night? It’s
moonlight.”

57He shook his head quickly, smiling at her
enthusiasm.

“I’m afraid not. You’re tired, and have the
dinner to get and the day’s dishes to wash and
put away. As for me, I’m so dead for sleep I can
hardly keep my eyes open. I must rest, so as to
have a clear head for to-morrow’s flight.”

“Shall we say anything to mother about it?”

“Why need we? It would only worry the dear
woman unnecessarily. Whether I succeed or fail
in this trial, it will be time enough to break the
news to her afterward.”

Orissa agreed with this. Mrs. Kane knew the
airship was nearing completion but was not especially
interested in the venture. It seemed wonderful
to her that mankind had at last learned how
to fly, and still more wonderful that her own son
was inventing and building an improved appliance
for this purpose; but so many marvelous things
had happened since she became blind that her mind
was to an extent inured to astonishment and she
had learned to accept with calm complacency anything
she could not comprehend.

Brother and sister at last tore themselves away
from the fascinating creation and returned to
the house, where Steve, thoroughly exhausted, fell
asleep in his chair while Orissa was preparing
dinner. He went to bed almost immediately after
58he had eaten and his sister also retired when her
mother did, which was at an early hour.

But Orissa could not sleep. She lay and
dreamed of the great triumph before them; of the
plaudits of enraptured spectators; of Stephen’s
name on every tongue in the civilized world; and,
not least by any means, of the money that would
come to them. No longer would the Kanes have
to worry over debts and duebills; the good things
of the world would be theirs, all won by her
brother’s cleverness.

If she slept at all before the gray dawn stole
into the sky the girl was not aware of it. By
half past four she had smoking hot coffee ready
for Steve and herself and after hastily drinking
it they rushed to the hangar.

Steve was bright and alert this morning and declared
he had “slept like a log.” He slid the
curtains away from the front of the shed and solemnly
the boy and girl wheeled the big aëroplane
out into the garden. By careful manipulation they
steered it between the trees and away to the fence
of Marston’s pasture, which adjoined their own
premises at the rear. To get it past the fence had
been Steve’s problem, and he had arranged to take
out a section of the fencing big enough to admit his
machine. This was now but a few minutes’ work,
and presently the aëroplane was on the smooth
turf of the pasture.

59They were all alone. There were no near neighbors,
and it was early for any to be astir.

“One of the most important improvements I
have made is my starting device,” said Steve, as
he began a last careful examination of his aircraft.
“All others have a lot of trouble in getting
started. The Wright people erect a tower and
windlass, and nearly every other machine uses a
track.”

“I know,” replied Orissa. “I have seen several
men holding the thing back until the motors got
well started and the propellers were whirling at
full speed.”

“That always struck me as a crude arrangement,”
observed her brother. “Now, in this machine
I start the motor whirling an eccentric of
the same resisting power as the propeller, yet it
doesn’t affect the stability of the aëroplane.
When I’m ready to start I throw in a clutch that
instantly transfers the power from the eccentric
to the propeller—and away I go like a rocket.”

As he spoke he kissed his sister and climbed
to the seat.

“Are you afraid, Steve?” she whispered, her
beautiful face flushed and her eyes bright with
excitement.

“Afraid! Of my own machine? Of course
not.”

60“Don’t go very high, dear.”

“We’ll see. I want to give it a thorough test.
All right, Ris; I’m off!”

The motors whirred, steadily accelerating
speed while the aëroplane trembled as if eager to
dart away. Steve threw in the clutch; the machine
leaped forward and ran on its wheels across
the pasture like a deer, but did not rise.

He managed to stop at the opposite fence and
when Orissa came running up, panting, her
brother sat in his place staring stupidly ahead.

“What’s wrong, Steve?”

He rubbed his head and woke up.

“The forward elevator, I guess. But I’m sure
I had it adjusted properly.”

He got down and examined the rudder, giving
it another upward tilt.

“Now I’ll try again,” he said cheerfully.

They turned the aircraft around and he made
another start. This time Orissa was really terrified,
for the thing acted just like a bucking broncho.
It rose to a height of six feet, dove to the
ground, rose again to plunge its nose into the turf
and performed such absurd, unexpected antics
that Steve had to cling on for dear life. When he
finally managed to bring it to a halt the rudder
was smashed and two ribs of the lower plane
splintered.

61They looked at the invention with dismay, both
silent for a time.

“Of course,” said Steve, struggling to restrain
his disappointment, “we couldn’t expect it to be
perfect at the first trial.”

“No,” agreed Orissa, faintly.

“But it ought to fly, you know.”

“Being a flying machine, it ought to,” she said.
“Can you mend it, Steve?”

“To be sure; but it will take me a little time.
To-morrow morning we will try again.”

With grave faces they wheeled it back into the
garden and the boy replaced the fence. Then
back to the hangar, where Steve put the Kane
Aircraft in its old place and drew the curtains—much
as one does at a funeral.

“I’m sure to discover what’s wrong,” he told
Orissa, regaining courage as they walked toward
the house. “And, if I’ve made a blunder, this is
the time to rectify it. To-morrow it will be sure
to fly. Have faith in me, Ris.”

“I have,” she replied simply. “I’ll go in and
get breakfast now.”

All that day Orissa was in a state of great depression.
Even Mr. Burthon noticed her woebegone
face and inquired if she were ill. The girl
had staked everything on Steve’s success and until
now had not permitted a doubt to creep into
her mind. But the behavior of the aircraft was
certainly not reassuring and for the first time she
faced the problem of what would happen if it
proved a failure. They would be ruined financially;
the place would have to be sold; worst of
all, her brother’s chagrin and disappointment
might destroy his youthful ambition and leave him
a wreck.

Somehow the girl managed to accomplish her
work that day and at evening, weary and despondent,
returned to her home. When she left
the car her step was slow and dragging until
Steve came running to meet her. His face was
beaming as he exclaimed:

“I’ve found the trouble, Ris! It was all my
stupidity. I put a pin in the front elevator while
63I was working at it, and forgot to take it out
again. No wonder it wouldn’t rise—it just
couldn’t!”

Orissa felt as if a great weight had been lifted
from her shoulders.

“Are you sure it will work now?” she asked
breathlessly.

“It’s bound to work. I’ve planned all right;
that I know; and having built the aircraft to do
certain things it can’t fail to do them. Provided,”
he added, more soberly, “I haven’t overlooked
something else.”

“Are the repairs completed, Steve?”

“All is in apple-pie order for to-morrow morning’s
test.”

It was a dreadfully long evening for them both,
but after going to bed Orissa was so tired and relieved
in spirit that she fell into a deep sleep that
lasted until Steve knocked at her door at early
dawn.

“Saturday morning,” he remarked, as together
they went out to the hangar. “Do you suppose
yesterday being Friday had anything to do with
our hard luck?”

“No; it was only that forgotten pin,” she
declared.

Again they wheeled the aircraft out to Marston’s
pasture, and once more the girl’s heart beat
high with hope and excitement.

64Steve took a final look at every part, although
he had already inspected his work with great care.
Then he sprang into the seat and said:

“All right, little sister. Wish me luck!”

The motor whirred—faster and faster—the
clutch gripped the propeller, and away darted
the aircraft. It rolled half way across the pasture,
then lifted and began mounting into the air.
Orissa stood with her hands clasped over her
bosom, straining her eyes to watch every detail of
the flight.

Straight away soared the aircraft, swift as a
bird, until it was a mere speck in the gray sky.
The girl could not see the turn, for the circle made
was scarcely noticeable at that distance, but suddenly
she was aware that Steve was returning.
The speck became larger, the sails visible. The
young aviator passed over the pasture at a height
of a hundred feet from the ground, circled over
their own garden and then began to descend. As
he did so the aircraft assumed a rocking motion,
side to side, which increased so dangerously that
Orissa screamed without knowing that she did so.

Down came the aëroplane, reaching the earth
on a side tilt that crushed the light planes into
kindling wood and a mass of crumpled canvas.
Steve rolled out, stretched his length upon the
ground, and lay still.

Orissa Stood with Hands Clasped.

65The sun was just beginning to rise over the
orange grove. The deathly silence that succeeded
the wreck of the aircraft was only broken by the
irregular, spasmodic whirr of the motors, which
were still going. Orissa, white and cold, crept in
among the debris and shut down the engines.
Then, slowly and reluctantly, she approached the
motionless form of her brother.

To be alone at such a time and place was dreadful.
A few steps from Steve she halted; then
turned and fled toward the garden in sudden
panic. Away from the horrid scene her courage
and presence of mind speedily returned. She
caught up a bucket of water that stood in the shed
and lugged it back to the pasture.

Was Steve dead? She leaned over him, dreading
to place her hand upon his heart, gazing piteously
into his set, unresponsive face.

Pat—pat—patter!

A rush across the springing turf.

What was it?

Orissa straightened up, yelled like an Indian
and made a run for the fence that did full credit
to her athletic training.

For Marston’s big bull was coming—a huge,
tawny creature with a temper that would shame
tobasco. He swerved as if to follow the fleeing
girl, but then the draggled planes of the aircraft
66defied him and he changed his mind to charge this
new and unknown enemy—perhaps with the same
disposition that Don Quixote attacked the
windmill.

Orissa shrieked again, for the enormous beast
bounded directly over Steve’s prostrate body and
with bowed head and tail straight as a pointer
dog’s rushed at the aëroplane. The sails shivered,
collapsed, rolled in billows like the waves of
the ocean, and amid them the struggling bull went
down, tangled himself in the wires and became a
helpless prisoner.

The girl, who was sobbing hysterically, heard
herself laugh aloud and was inexpressibly
shocked. The bull bellowed with rage but was so
wound around with guy-wires that this was the
extent of his power. Turning her eyes from the
beast to Steve she gave a shout of joy, for her
brother was sitting up and rubbing his leg with
one hand and his head with the other, while he
stared bewildered at the wreck of his aëroplane,
from which the head of the bull protruded.

Orissa ran up, wringing her hands, and asked:

“Are you much hurt, dear?”

“I—I’ve gone crazy!” he answered, despairingly.
“Seems as if the aircraft was transformed
into the mummy of a—a—brute beast! Don’t
laugh, Ris. Wh—what’s wrong with me—with
my eyes? Tell me!”

67She threw herself down upon the grass and
laughed until she cried, Steve’s reproachful
glances having no particle of effect in restraining
her. When at last she could control herself she
sat up and wiped her eyes, saying:

“Forgive me, dear, it’s—it’s so funny! But,”
suddenly grave and anxious, “are you badly hurt?
Is anything—broken?”

“Nothing but my heart,” he replied dolefully.

“Oh; that!” she said, relieved.

“Just look at that mess!” he wailed, pointing
to the aircraft. “What has happened to it?”

“The bull,” she answered. “But don’t be discouraged,
dear; the thing flew beautifully.”

“The bull?”

“No; the aircraft. But as for the bull, I’m
bound to say he did his best. How in the world
shall we get him out of there, Steve?”

“I—I think I’m dazed, Ris,” he murmured,
feeling his head again. “Can’t you help me to—understand?”

So she told him the whole story, Stephen sighing
and shaking his head as he glared at the bull
and the bull glared at him. Afterward the boy
made an effort to rise, and Orissa leaned down
and assisted him. When he got to his feet she held
him until he grew stronger and could stand alone.

“I’m so grateful you were not killed,” his sister
68whispered. “Nothing else matters since you
have so miraculously escaped.”

“Killed?” said Steve; “why, it was only a
tumble, Ris. But the bull is a more serious complication.
I suppose the aircraft was badly damaged,
from what you say, before the bull got it;
but now it’s a hopeless mess.”

“Oh, no,” she returned, encouragingly. “If he
hasn’t smashed the motor we won’t mind the rest
of the damage. Do you think we can untangle
him?”

They approached the animal, who by this time
was fully subdued and whined apologetically to
be released. Steve got his nippers and cut wire
after wire until suddenly the animal staggered to
his feet, gave a terrified bellow and dashed down
the field with a dozen yards of plane cloth wound
around his neck.

“Good riddance!” cried Orissa. “I don’t
think he’ll ever bother us again.”

Steve was examining the wreck. He tested the
motors and found that neither the fall nor the bull
had damaged them in the least. But there was
breakage enough, aside from this, to make him
groan disconsolately.

“The flight was wonderful,” commented his
sister, watching his face anxiously. “Nothing
could work more perfectly than the Kane Aircraft
69did until—until—the final descent. What caused
the rocking, Steve?”

“A fault of the lateral balance. My automatic
device refused to work, and before I knew it I had
lost control.”

She stood gazing thoughtfully down at the
wreck. Her brother had really invented a flying
machine, of that there was no doubt. She had
seen it fly—seen it soar miles through the air—and
knew that a certain degree of success had been
obtained. There was something wrong, to be sure;
there usually is with new inventions; but wrongs
can be righted.

“I’ve succeeded in a lot of things,” her brother
was saying, reflectively. “The engines, the propeller
and elevator are all good, and decided improvements
on the old kinds. The starting device
works beautifully and will soon be applied to
every airship made. Only the automatic balance
failed me, and I believe I know how to remedy
that fault.”

“Do you suppose the machine can be rebuilt?”
she asked.

“Assuredly. And the automatic balance perfected.
The trouble is, Orissa, it will take a lot
more money to do it, and we’ve already spent the
last cent we could raise. It’s hard luck. Here
is a certain fortune within our grasp, if we could
70perfect the thing, and our only stumbling block is
the lack of a few dollars.”

Having reviewed in her mind all the circumstances
of Steve’s successful flight the girl knew
that he spoke truly. Comparing the aircraft with
other machines she had seen and studied at the
aviation meet she believed her brother’s invention
was many strides in advance of them all.

“The question of securing the money is something
we must seriously consider,” she said. “In
some way it will be raised, of course. But just
now our chief problem is how to get this ruin back
to the hangar.”

“That will be my job,” declared Steve, his courage
returning. “There are few very big pieces
left to remove, and by taking things apart I shall
be able to get it all into the shed. The day’s doings
are over, Ris. Get breakfast and then go to
your work. After I’ve stored this rubbish I’ll
take a run into town myself, and look for a job.
The aviation jig is up—for the present, at least.”

“Don’t do anything hurriedly, Steve,” protested
the girl. “Work on the aircraft for a day
or two, just as if we had money to go ahead with.
That will give me time to think. To-night, when
I come home, we will talk of this again.”

Saturday was a busy day at the office. They did
not close early, but rather later than on other
days, and Orissa found plenty of work to occupy
her. But always there remained in her thoughts
the problem of how to obtain money for Steve,
and she racked her brain to find some practical
solution.

Mr. Burthon was in a mellow mood to-day.
Since the sale of his mining stock he had been less
abstracted and moody than before, and during the
afternoon, having just handed Orissa several
deeds of land to copy, he noticed her pale, drawn
face and said:

“You look tired, Miss Kane.”

She gave him one of her sweet, bright smiles in
payment for the kindly tone.

“I am tired,” she returned. “For two mornings
I have been up at four o’clock.”

“Anyone ill at home?” he asked quickly.

“No, sir.”

Suddenly it occurred to her that he might assist
72in unraveling the problem. She turned to him
and said:

“Can you spare me a few minutes, Mr. Burthon?
I—I want to ask your advice.”

He glanced at her curiously and sat down in a
chair facing her.

“Tell me all about it,” he said encouragingly.
“Not long ago it was I asking for advice, and you
were good enough to favor me. Now it is logically
your turn.”

“My brother,” said she, “has invented an
airship.”

He gave a little start of surprise and an eager
look spread over his face. Then he smiled at her
tolerantly.

“All the world has gone crazy over aviation,”
he remarked. “I, myself, witnessed the flights at
Dominguez Field and became strongly impressed
with the desire to fly. I suppose your brother
contracted the fever, too, and has made a model
he thinks will float in the air.”

“Oh, it is not a model,” she gravely replied.
“Stephen is an expert mechanic and has worked
on many of the most famous aëroplanes in the
country. He has recently built a complete airship
of his own, and this morning I watched him make
a very successful flight in it.”

“Indeed?” he exclaimed, the eager look returning.
73“There is money in a good airship, Miss
Kane. This is the psychological moment to forge
ahead in aviation, which will soon become the
world’s popular mode of transit. It is easy to
build an airship; yes. Perhaps I could build one
myself. But where many will try, many will fail.”

“And some will succeed,” she added, smiling.

He examined her expressive face with interest.

“Please tell me all about it,” said he.

So Orissa gave him the history of the aircraft,
from its conception to the final triumph and
wreckage and its conquest by the bull. Incidentally
she told how they had mortgaged their home
and the orange crop to get the needed money, and
finally explained the condition they were now in—success
within their grasp, but no means of
taking advantage of it.

Mr. Burthon was very attentive throughout,
his eyes fixed upon Orissa’s lovely face and watching
its shades of anxiety and exaltation as the
story progressed. While she enthusiastically described
Steve’s aircraft, her eyes sparkling and a
soft flush mantling her cheeks, the man scarcely
heard what she said, so intent was he in admiring
her. He did not permit his fair secretary to notice
his mood, however, and the girl was too earnestly
engaged to heed her employer’s intent gaze. At
the conclusion of her story she asked:

74“Tell me, sir, is there any way in which we can
raise the money required?”

Mr. Burthon roused himself and the hard business
expression settled upon his features again.

“I think so,” he returned, slowly. “What your
brother needs is a backer—what is called an
‘angel,’ you know—who will furnish the necessary
funds for the perfection of the invention and to
place it upon the market and properly exhibit it.”

“Would anyone do that?” she inquired.

“For a consideration, yes. Such a party would
demand an interest in the invention, and a share
of the profits.”

“How much, sir?”

“Perhaps a half interest.”

She considered this statement.

“That is too much to give away, Mr. Burthon.
The aircraft is already built and tested. It is a
proved success, and the best aëroplane in all the
world. Why should we give a half interest in return
for a little money?”

He hesitated; then replied coldly:

“Because the invention is useless without the
means to publicly demonstrate it, and establish
it on a paying basis. At present your airship is
without the slightest commercial value. Once exploited,
the half interest you retain would make
your fortune.”

75Her brow wrinkled with a puzzled look.

“I’ll talk to Steve about it,” she said. “But, if
he consents, where could I find such an—an
‘angel’?”

“In me,” he answered coolly. “If, on investigation,
I find your brother’s airship to be one half
as practical as you represent it, and doubtless believe
it to be, I will deposit ten thousand dollars in
the bank to exploit it—in return for a half interest—and
agree to furnish more money whenever it
is required.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Orissa, doubtfully. “I—I’ll
talk with my brother.”

“Very well,” he replied. “But beware of confiding
in strangers. I am your friend, and will
guard your interests faithfully. Talk with your
brother, but with no one else.”

Orissa did talk with Steve, that very evening,
and the boy frowned at the suggestion just as his
sister had done.

“I know that is the way business men do
things,” he said, “and it’s a good deal like robbery.
Burthon sees that we must have money,
and he’s driving a shrewd bargain. Besides that,
I’m not sure he’s honest.”

“I don’t see how he could defraud us, though,”
mused Orissa. “There are two things for us to
consider. One is, whether we can raise the money
76in any other way; and then, whether a half interest
in a business with plenty of money behind it
would not pay better than the whole thing, with a
constant struggle to make both ends meet.”

“Perhaps it might,” he replied, hesitatingly.
“But I’ve done all this alone, so far, and I hate
to let anyone else reap the benefit of my ideas. I
suppose if I had not proved the thing, but merely
begun work on it, Burthon wouldn’t have invested
a dollar in it.”

“I suppose not,” she agreed. “But think it
over, dear. We have all day to-morrow to talk of
it and consider what is best to be done. Then,
when I go to the office Monday morning, I can tell
Mr. Burthon our decision.”

They talked considerably more on this subject
after dinner, and worried over it during a sleepless
night. After breakfast on Sunday morning
they went quietly to church, Mrs. Kane accompanying
them, as was her custom. But Orissa
had hard work to keep her mind on the service and
Steve found the attempt impossible. The return
home, including a long car ride, was passed in
silence, and then Orissa had to busy herself over
the dinner.

It was the middle of the afternoon before
brother and sister found time to meet in the hangar,
which was now strewn with parts of the aircraft.
77Steve looked around him gloomily and then
seated himself beside Orissa upon a bench.

“I suppose we must settle this thing,” he said;
“and there’s no doubt we must have money, or we
shall face ruin. The thing has cost too much for
us to withdraw from it without a heavy loss that
would mean privation and suffering for you and
mother. If we go to anyone but Burthon we may
not get as good an offer as he makes, for men with
money are eager to take advantage of a poor fellow
in need. I can’t blame Burthon much. I
don’t suppose there’s a rich man living who
wouldn’t hold us up in the same selfish way. And
so—”

He paused, shrugging his shoulders.

“So you think we’d better accept Mr. Burthon’s
proposition and give him a half interest?”
she asked.

“Beg pardon,” said a cold voice; “am I
intruding?”

Stephen and Orissa both sprang to their feet,
startled by the interruption. A tall man, having
a stoop to his shoulders, had parted the entrance
curtains and stood looking at them. He wore blue
goggles, an automobile cap and duster, and heavy
shoes; but Orissa recognized him at once.

“Mr. Cumberford!” she exclaimed.

“Dear me!” said the man; “it’s the young lady
from Burthon’s office—and my friend.” He
laughed, lightly, as if amused by the recollection;
then added: “I’ve run out of gasoline and my car
is stranded a quarter of a mile off. Think you
could furnish me enough of the elusive fluid to run
me into town?”

Steve walked silently to his gasoline tank. He
was excessively annoyed to have a stranger spy
upon his workshop and resolved to get rid of the
man in short order. Orissa also was silent, fearing
Mr. Cumberford might linger if she entered
into conversation with him. The spot was so retired
that until now no one but themselves had
79ever entered the hangar, and the secret had been
well kept.

“Here’s a two-gallon can,” said Stephen, surlily.
“Will that do you?”

Mr. Cumberford nodded, set the can upon the
ground and walked over to the bench, where he
calmly seated himself beside the girl.

“What are you up to, here?” he asked.

“Our own especial business,” retorted Steve.
“You will pardon me, sir, if I ask you to take your
gasoline and go. This is private property.”

“I see,” said Cumberford. “I’m intruding.
Never mind that. Let’s talk a bit; I’m in no
hurry.”

“We are very much occupied, sir,” urged
Orissa, earnestly.

“No doubt,” said the man. “I overheard a remark
as I entered. You were wondering whether
to accept Burthon’s offer and give him a half interest.
Eh? That interests me; I’m Burthon’s
brother-in-law.”

He glanced around him, then calmly took a cigarette
from his pocket and offered one to Steve.

“I can’t allow smoking here, sir; there’s too
much gasoline about,” said the boy, almost rudely.

“True. I forgot.” He put the case in his
pocket. “You’re building some sort of a—er—er—flying
machine, I see. That interests me. I’m
80a crank on aviation. Is this the thing Burthon
wants a half interest in?”

Steve scowled. When Cumberford turned to
Orissa she slightly nodded, embarrassed how to
escape this impertinent questioning.

“I thought so. Then you’ve really got
something?”

Steve laughed. His annoyance was passing.
The man had already seen whatever there was to
see, for his eyes had been busy from the moment
he entered. And Steve remembered that this was
the person who had outwitted Mr. Burthon in the
mine deal.

“I have something that will fly, if that is what
you mean,” he replied.

“Yes; that is what I mean. Tried the thing
yet?”

“Oh, yes,” said Orissa eagerly. “It flew
splendidly yesterday morning, but—but Steve had
an accident with his aëroplane, and a bull demolished
what was left of it.”

“Ah; that interests me; it really does,” said
Cumberford. He looked at Stephen more attentively.
“Your brother, Miss Kane?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you need money?”

“To rebuild the machine, and perfect it; yes,
sir.”

81“And Burthon will furnish the money, for a half
interest?”

“Yes, sir,” repeated the girl, uneasy at his tone.

“Too much,” asserted Mr. Cumberford, positively.
“Burthon’s a rascal, too. You know
that, Miss Kane. Tried to rob me; and you tried
to prevent him. I haven’t forgotten that; it was
a kindness. I’ve had to fight a cold, hard, selfish
world, and fight it alone. I’ve won; but it has
made me as cold, as hard and selfish as the others.
You’re different, Miss Kane; the world hasn’t
spoiled you yet. I can’t recollect when anyone
ever took the trouble to do me a kindness before.
So I, your direct opposite, admire you for your
originality. I’m a scoundrel and you’re a—an
honest girl.”

There wasn’t a particle of emotion in his voice,
but somehow both Orissa and Stephen knew he
was in earnest. It was difficult to say anything
fitting in reply, and after a brief pause the man
continued:

“I can see that your airship is at present something
of a wreck. How much money do you
need?”

“I ought to have at least a thousand dollars,”
answered Steve, reflectively glancing around the
shop. Cumberford’s eyes followed his.

“Will two thousand do it?”

82“Of course, sir.”

“I’ll lend you three,” said the man. “I don’t
want a half interest. I won’t rob you.”

Both boy and girl stared at him in amazement.

“What security do you require?” asked
Stephen, suspiciously.

“Eh? None at all. The thing interests me.
If you make a lot of money, I’ll let you pay me
back some day. That’s fair. If you fail, you’ll
have worries enough without having to repay me.
But I attach two conditions to my offer. One
is that you have nothing to do with Burthon. The
other is that I have permission to come here and
watch your work; to advise with you at times; to
help you map out your future career and to attend
all the flying exhibitions in which you take part.
Agree to that, and I’ll back you through thick
and thin, because I’m interested in aviation and—because
your sister was good to me.”

“I’ll do it, sir!” cried Steve, excitedly.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Mr. Cumberford,”
added Orissa, in joyful tones.

“It’s a bargain,” said Cumberford, smiling at
them both. He took out a fountain pen and wrote
a check on a Los Angeles bank for three thousand
dollars in favor of Stephen Kane. But he handed
it to Orissa.

“Now then,” said he, “tell me something about
it.”

When Orissa appeared at the office Monday
morning she went quietly about her work, feeling
very happy indeed. The astonishing generosity
of Mr. Cumberford had relieved all her worries
and brought sunshine into her heart.

Mr. Burthon came at his usual time and on taking
his place at the desk looked inquiringly at
Orissa, but said nothing. Neither did she mention
the subject of the aircraft. Her employer,
watching her stealthily from behind his desk, could
not fail to note the joy in her face and was undoubtedly
puzzled to account for it—unless, indeed,
she and her brother had decided to accept his
proposition. He had an idea that they would accept;
that they must accept; it was the only way
they could carry on their experiment. But he
waited for her to refer to the subject.

Orissa managed to escape that night while a
customer was engaging Mr. Burthon’s attention.
She disliked, for some unexplained reason, to tell
him they had decided not to take him for a partner.
84Arriving home she found Steve busily at
work rebuilding his airship, and it pleased her to
hear his cheery whistle as she approached the hangar.
The young fellow was in capital spirits.

“You see, Ris,” said he, “with all this money to
use I shall be able to make an entirely new automatic
balance. I’ve come to the conclusion the
first one doesn’t work smoothly enough to be entirely
satisfactory. I shall also provide a store
of extra ribs and such parts as are liable to get
damaged, so that the repair work will be a matter
of hours instead of days. How lucky it was Mr.
Cumberford ran out of gasoline yesterday.”

“He’s a queer man,” replied Orissa, thoughtfully.
“I can’t make up my mind yet whether I
like him or not.”

“I like his money, anyhow,” laughed Steve;
“and we didn’t have to give him a half interest
to get it, either. I imagine the man was really
touched by your endeavor to save him from what
you thought was a bad bargain, and certainly his
magnanimous act could have been prompted by
nothing but kindness.”

“It saved our half interest, at least,” she said,
evasively. “Has he been here to-day, Steve?”

“Haven’t seen even his shadow,” was the reply.
“I don’t imagine he’ll bother us much, although
he has reserved the right to look around
85all he wants to. He must be a busy man, with all
his wealth.”

The next morning, however, after Orissa had
gone to her work, Mr. Cumberford’s car spun up
the lane and he came into the hangar, nodded to
Steve and sat down quietly on the bench.

For a time he silently watched the young man
shave a Cyprus rib into shape; then got up and
carefully examined the motor, which was in good
order. Steve knew, when first Mr. Cumberford
began asking questions, that he understood machinery,
and the man was quick to perceive the
value of young Kane’s improvements.

“It interests me,” he drawled, after starting
the engines and watching them work. “As a boy
I longed to be a mechanic. Got sidetracked,
though, and became a speculator. Needs almost
as much ingenuity to succeed in that as in mechanics.
Pays better, but ruins one’s self-respect.
Stick to mechanics, Kane.”

“I will,” promised Steve, laughing.

“This new profession,” continued Cumberford,
“will throw you in with a lot of ‘queer’ people—same
sort that used to follow the races and now
bet on automobile contests. Keep your sister
away from them.”

“I’ll try to,” returned Steve, more soberly.
“But Orissa is crazy over aviation, and she’ll
have to go everywhere that I do.”

86“That’s all right; I like the idea. But don’t
introduce her to every fellow you are forced to
associate with. Girls are queer, and your sister
is—beautiful. I’ve a daughter myself.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Steve, not knowing just how
to take this remark.

“My daughter is not—beautiful. No. And
she’s a demon. I’ll bring her here to see you
and your sister, some day.”

“Thank you,” said Steve, turning red. Certainly
this new acquaintance was odd and unaccountable
in some ways. Steve wondered why he
should bring a “demon” to the hangar, and why
he described his own daughter in such uncomplimentary
language.

Mr. Cumberford smoked a cigarette
thoughtfully.

“Your sister,” he said, “interests me. She’s
a good girl. Must have a good mother.”

“The best in the world,” asserted Steve,
proudly.

“My daughter,” resumed Cumberford, “takes
after her mother. Girls usually do. Her mother
was—well, she was Burthon’s sister. Catch the
idea? It was all my fault, and Sybil—that’s my
daughter—blames me for her parentage. With
apparent justice. Not a joke, Kane. Don’t
laugh.”

87“I’m not laughing, sir.”

“Speaking of Burthon reminds me of something.
I don’t like the idea of your sister working
there—in his office.”

“He has always treated her very nicely, I believe,”
said Steve, “and Orissa feels she must
earn some money.”

“Not necessary. You’ve a fortune in your airship.
Take the girl away from Burthon. Keep
her at home.”

Steve did not reply to this, but he decided it was
not a bad suggestion.

“How old is she?” inquired Cumberford,
presently.

“Just seventeen.”

“Too young to work in an office. Finished her
education?”

“All we are able to give her, sir.”

“H-m-m. Take my advice. Burthon’s unreliable.
I know him. Gorilla inside, man outside.
I—I married a Burthon.”

These brief sentences were spoken between puffs
of his cigarette. Sometimes there would be a
very definite pause between them, while the man
smoked and reflected upon his subject. Steve
continued his work and answered when required
to do so.

Cumberford stayed at the hangar until nearly
88noon, watching the boy work, bearing a hand now
and then when a plane rib was awkward to handle
alone, always interested in everything pertaining
to the aëroplane. He made Steve explain the
changes he proposed to apply to the lateral balance
and offered one or two rather clever suggestions,
showing his grasp of the subject. But he
did not refer to Orissa again and finally slipped
away without saying good-bye.

Steve thought him queerer than during their
first interview, but liked him better.

Meantime Orissa was having a hard time at the
office endeavoring to avoid a personal conversation
with Mr. Burthon. When he came in at nine
o’clock he smiled upon her and asked:

“Anything to tell me, Miss Kane?”

She shook her head, flushing a little, and he went
to his desk without another word. He seemed abstracted
and moody during the forenoon—a return
of his old puzzling manner—and Orissa regretted
she had not been brave enough to tell him
of their decision to reject his offer when he gave
her the opportunity.

Nothing more passed between them until after
luncheon, but when she reëntered the office Mr.
Burthon, who had not gone out, suddenly roused
himself and said:

“Come here, please, Miss Kane.”

She obeyed, meekly seating herself in the chair
beside his desk.

The man looked at her a long time; not impudently,
with direct gaze, but rather speculatively
90and with an expression that seemed to penetrate
far beyond her and to consider many things beside
her fair face. Finally he asked:

“What conclusion have you reached in regard
to your financial matters, of which we spoke
Saturday?”

“I’ve talked with my brother, sir, and he dislikes
to give up a half interest in his invention.”

“Did you tell him I would furnish all the money
that might be required?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And he refused?”

“This aëroplane is very dear to my brother, Mr.
Burthon. He cannot bear to transfer a part ownership
to another, who would have the right to
dictate its future.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed the broker, impatiently;
“the boy’s a fool. There’s scarcely an inventor
in the world who hasn’t had to sacrifice an interest
in his creation in order to raise money.”

“Stephen won’t do it,” declared Orissa, positively,
for she resented the speech.

Mr. Burthon fell silent, drumming on the desk
with his fingers, as he always did when in deep
thought. Orissa started to rise, thinking the interview
closed.

“Wait a moment, please,” he said. “How old
are you, Miss Kane?—your name is Orissa, isn’t
it?”

91“Yes, sir. I am seventeen.”

“So young! Why, you ought to be in school,
instead of at work.”

She made no reply. He watched her awhile, as
she sat before him with bent head, and then continued,
in the kindly tone he so often used when
addressing her:

“Miss Kane—Orissa—I will give your brother
all the money he needs, and he may retain the entire
interest in his airship. The payment may
come from you alone.”

She started and became alert at once, raising
her head to look at him inquiringly.

“In other words,” he added, “I’m not especially
interested in your brother or his invention;
but I am greatly interested in you.”

“Mr. Burthon, I—”

“Listen to me, Orissa, and let me explain. I’m
a lonely man, for I have never married—or cared
to. You are the only member of the fair sex
who has ever attracted me except my sister, whom
I regarded with warm affection. When she married
that scoundrel Cumberford we became separated
forever, and in a few years she died. Since
then I have thought of nothing but business. I
am now thirty-eight years of age, and in my prime.
I have amassed a fortune—something more than a
quarter of a million, as you know—and have no
92one to leave it to when I pass away. I should like
to leave it to you, Orissa.”

“To me, sir!” she exclaimed, amazed.

“Yes. Your presence here in the office has
transformed the place from a barren den to a
cozy, homelike apartment. I like to see your sweet
face near me, gravely bending over your work.
Your personality has charmed me; your lack of
affectation, your sincerity and honesty, have won
my admiration. I cannot say to you, as a younger
man would, that I love you, for I will not take an
unfair advantage of one who is as yet a child. But
you will become a woman soon, and I want to make
you a splendid woman—and a happy one. This
is my proposition: place yourself in my hands unreservedly,
and let me direct your future. I will
send you to a famous finishing school in the East
and supply you with a liberal allowance. In two
years you will return to me, old enough to become
my wife.”

“Oh, Mr. Burthon!”

“Meantime I’ll finance your brother’s airship
proposition until it either fails or finally succeeds.”

Orissa was greatly distressed. She felt at the
moment like giving way to a flood of tears, for
she realized that this absurd, astonishing proposal
would deprive her of her position. He saw her
93agitation and felt intuitively she would not consider
his offer. So he said, with grim insistence:

“You may answer me with one word, my child;
yes or no.”

“Oh, Mr. Burthon, it is impossible! I have a
home, a mother and brother, and—I—I could not
think of such a thing.”

“Not to save those relatives from disaster—from
misery—from ruin, perhaps?”

The implied threat hardened her heart, which
had begun to pity the man.

“Not even to save them from death!” she replied
firmly.

“Am I so distasteful to you, then? Is my money
of so little account?”

With cold dignity Orissa rose from her chair.
He saw the look on her face and became a little
alarmed.

“Please forget all I have said,” he added,
hastily. “I—I am not myself to-day. You may
get the mail ready, Miss Kane, and I will sign the
letters before I go.”

She went to the wardrobe and took down her
things. He sat silently watching her as she put
them on, a slight frown upon his face. The girl
hesitated a moment, then walked straight to his
desk and said:

“Of course I cannot stay here a moment after
94what you have said. But I think you—you meant
to be good to me—in your way. Good-bye, Mr.
Burthon.”

“Good-bye, Miss Kane.”

His voice was cold and hard. She did not look
at him again, but walked out of the office and
quietly left the building, so she did not see that the
frown had deepened to a scowl, nor hear him
mutter:

“Both lost—the girl and the aëroplane! But
I’ll have them yet, for the Kanes are too simple
to oppose me successfully.”

At three o’clock Orissa surprised Steve by coming
into the hangar in her working dress.

“Why, what’s the matter, Ris?” he demanded.

“I’ve left Mr. Burthon,” she said quietly.

“What’s up?”

Orissa thought it unwise to tell her brother all
that had transpired.

“He was angry because we refused to give him a
half interest in the aircraft,” she explained. “So
I simply quit and came home.”

Steve sat down and stared at her a moment.
He had been thinking of Mr. Cumberford’s warning
ever since that strange individual had gone
away, and Orissa’s “resignation” afforded him
distinct relief.

“I’m glad of it, Ris,” he said, earnestly.
95“There’s no necessity for you to work now, for
we have plenty of money to see us through.
Besides, I need you here to assist me.”

“Really, Steve?”

“It’s a fact. I don’t like to employ outside assistance
at this stage of the game; it might be
fatal. But you are nearly as well posted on aëroplanes
as I am, Orissa, and you’re clever enough
to be of real help to me. I don’t need brute
strength, you know.”

“Why, I’m terribly strong!” she said with a
gay laugh, baring her round arm and bending her
elbow to show how the muscle bunched up. “I can
lift as much as you can, Steve, if it is necessary.”

“It won’t be necessary,” replied her brother,
delighted to find how easily she adopted his suggestion.
“Just grab the end of that bow and
hold it steady while I shave a point to it. That’s
it. Don’t you see how awkward it is for me to
handle these things alone?”

She nodded.

“You’re right, Steve. I’ll stay at home and
help you finish the aircraft,” said she.

Mr. Burthon was like many other men accustomed
to modern business methods: he believed
there was always an indirect way to accomplish
whatever he desired. Also, like many others who
have little or no use for such a contrivance, he
owned a motor car. His chauffeur was a little,
wizen featured man named Totham Tyler, familiarly
called “Tot” by his chums, a chauffeur who
knew automobiles backward and forward and
might have progressed beyond his present station
had he not been recognized as so “tricky” that no
one had any confidence in him.

About two weeks after Orissa had left the office
Mr. Burthon said to his man one morning:

“Tyler, would you like to do a little detective
work?”

“Anything to oblige, sir,” answered Totham,
pricking up his ears.

“Have you ever met a fellow around town
named Kane?”

“Steve Kane, sir? Oh, yes. He used to be
97foreman of Cunningham’s repair shop. Quit
there some time ago, I believe. Clever fellow, sir,
this Kane.”

“Yes; he has invented a new sort of aëroplane.”

Tyler whistled, reflectively. All motor car people
have a penchant for flying. As Mr. Cumberford
would have said: it “interests them.”

“Kane is keeping the matter a secret,” continued
Mr. Burthon, “and I’m curious to know
what he’s up to. Find out, Tyler, and let me
know.”

“Very good, sir. Where is he working?”

“At home. He lives out Beverly way. Take
a Beverly car and get off at Sandringham avenue.
Walk north up the lane to the first bungalow.”

“Ever been there, sir?”

“No; but Kane’s sister has described the place
to me. When you get there, try to hire out as an
assistant, but in any case keep your eyes open and
observe everything in sight. I’ll pay you extra
for this work, according to the value of the information
you obtain.”

“I understand, sir,” answered Tyler, wrinkling
his leathery face into a shrewd smile; “I know how
to work a game of that sort, believe me.”

In pursuance of this mission the little chauffeur
came to the Kane residence that very afternoon.
As he approached the bungalow he heard the
98sound of pounding upon metal coming from the
canvas covered hangar; otherwise the country lay
peacefully sunning itself. An automobile stood in
the lane. On the front porch a woman sat knitting,
but raised her head at the sound of footsteps.
Tyler touched his cap, but there was no
response. Looking at her closely he saw the
woman was blind, so he passed her stealthily and
tiptoed up the narrow path toward the hangar.
The top canvas had been drawn back on wires to
admit the air, but the entrance was closed by curtains.
Tyler listened to the hammering a moment,
and summoning his native audacity to his aid
boldly parted the curtains and entered.

“Hello, Kane!” he called; then paused and took
in the scene before him at a glance.

Stephen was at the bench pounding into shape
an aluminum propeller-blade; a tall man with a
drooping mustache stood near, watching him. A
young girl was busily sewing strips of canvas.
On its rack lay a huge flying machine—its planes
spread, the motors in place, the running gear complete—seemingly
almost ready for action.

But Tyler was not the only one with eyes.
Kane paused with uplifted hammer and regarded
the intruder with a frown of annoyance; Orissa
stared in startled surprise; the tall man’s spectacles
glittered maliciously.

99“Burthon’s chauffeur!” he muttered; “I remember
him.” Swiftly his long arm shot out,
seized Tyler’s shoulder and whirled him around.
The square toe of a heavy shoe caught the little
man unprepared and sent him flying through the
entrance, where he sprawled full length upon the
ground.

In an instant he was up, snarling with rage.
The curtains were closed and before them stood
his assailant calmly lighting a cigarette.

“Mr. Cumberford, sir,” gasped Tyler, “you
shall smart for this! It’s actionable, sir. It’s—it’s—assault
’n’ battery; that’s what it is!”

“Want any more?” asked the man coolly.

“Not to-day, thank you. This’ll cost you
plenty.”

“Then go back to Burthon and tell him we know
his game. You’re trespassing, sir. I could
wring your neck—perhaps I will—and the law
would uphold me. If you want to escape alive,
make tracks.”

Totham Tyler took the hint. He walked away
with as much dignity as he could muster, considering
his anatomy had so recently been jarred; but
he did not take the car home. Oh, no. There
was much more to discover inside that hangar.
He would wait until night, and then take his time
to explore the place fully.

100With this end in view the chauffeur secreted
himself in the outskirts of the orange grove, creeping
underneath a tree with thick branches that
nearly touched the ground. He could pick ripe
fruit from where he lay, and was well content
to rest himself until night came.

An hour later Mr. Cumberford whirled by in his
motor car, headed for the city. Tyler shook his
fist at his enemy and swore effectively to relieve
his feelings. Then he sank into a doze.

The approaching chug of an engine aroused him.
He found it was nearly dark, so he must have
slept for some hours. Here was Cumberford,
back with his car and speeding up the lane so
swiftly that Tot could only see a cage-like affair
occupying the rear section of the automobile.

The chauffeur wondered what this could be, puzzling
his brain for a solution of the problem. Even
while considering the matter Cumberford passed
him again, smoking his eternal cigarette and running
the car more deliberately, now, toward the
city.

“All right,” mumbled the chauffeur; “he’s out
of the way for the night, anyhow. But he left
the cage somewhere. What the blazes could he
have had in it?”

He ate a few more oranges for his supper,
smoked his pipe, snoozed again and awoke to find
it was nearly midnight.

101“Good!” said he; “now’s my time. I don’t
mind a bit of a wait if I get the goods in the end;
and here’s where I get ’em. It takes a pretty
good man to outwit Tot Tyler. They’ll agree to
that, by’m’by.”

He crept down the lane and kept on the south
side of the hedge until he came opposite the hangar,
thus avoiding the house and grounds. The
canvas top of the shed showed white in the moonlight,
not twenty feet from where he stood, and the
chauffeur was pressing aside the thick hedge to
find an opening when a deep bay, followed by a
growl, smote his ears. He paused, his head thrust
half through the foliage, his blood chilled with terror
as there bounded from the hangar a huge
bloodhound, its eyes glaring red in the dim light,
its teeth bared menacingly.

Tot thought he was “done for,” as he afterward
told Mr. Burthon, when with a jerk the
great beast stopped—a yard from the hedge—and
the clank of a chain showed it could come no
farther.

Tyler caught his breath, broke from the hedge
and sprinted down the lane at his best gait, followed
by a succession of angry bays from the
hound.

“Confound Cumberford!” he muttered. “The
brute was in that cage, and he went to town to get
102it, so’s to keep me out of the hangar. That’s
two I owe this guy, an’ I’ll get even with him in
time, sure’s fate.”

There was no car at this hour, so the discomfited
chauffeur had to trudge seven miles to the city,
where he arrived at early dawn.

The man was not in an amiable frame of mind
when he brought Mr. Burthon’s automobile to the
club, where his master lived, at nine o’clock. As
he drove the broker to the office he related his
news.

“Cumberford!” cried Mr. Burthon. “Are you
sure it was Cumberford?”

“Yes, sir; I remember him well. Took him to
your office and the bank, you know, the time you
had some deal with him; and he tried to tell me
how to run the car. Me! I spotted him right
away for a fresh guy from the East, an’ now he’s
kicked me out of Kane’s hangar an’ set a dog on
me. Oh, yes; I know Cumberford.”

“So do I,” said Burthon, grimly.

Tyler caught the tone.

“I’ll do him yet, sir. Leave it to me. I
couldn’t get much of a pointer on Kane’s aëroplane;
hadn’t time, you know; but it looked like
a rosebud an’ I guess he’s got something good.
I’m going to find out. I’ll take out a dose for the
dog that’ll put him to sleep in a wink, and then
I’ll go all over the thing careful.”

103“Never mind the airship,” said Mr. Burthon.
“I’ve found out what I wanted to know.”

“What! you have, sir?” exclaimed the chauffeur,
amazed.

“Yes,” was the quiet reply. “That is, if
you’re positive the man at the Kanes was
Cumberford.”

“Sure? Why, I’d stake my life on it, sir.”

“Then I’ll follow the clue in my own way,” said
Mr. Burthon, alighting from the car.

The discovery made by Tyler necessitated a
change in the proposed campaign. The broker
entered his office, sat down at his desk and fell into
one of his fits of deep abstraction. The new “secretary,”
noting this, chewed her gum reflectively
a moment and then began to read a novel, keeping
the volume concealed behind her desk.

“If Cumberford was in the hangar,” Mr. Burthon
mused, “he has undertaken to back Kane’s
aëroplane, and I’m too late to get hold of the machine
in the way I planned. I suppose the fool
offered better terms than I did, to blind those simple
children, and so the Kanes turned me down.
Never mind. Cumberford has beaten me on two
deals, but the third trick shall be mine. I must
get hold of the designs of Kane’s aëroplane in
some way; perhaps I may find them at the patent
office. Then I’ll regulate things so the boy’s invention
104will prove a failure. The result ought
to satisfy me: it would cause Cumberford serious
loss, ruin young Kane, and—bring Orissa to me
for assistance. But Tyler can’t manage the job;
I must have a man more clever than he is, and
direct the intrigue in person.”

The secretary read and chewed most of the day.
When she quit “work” at five o’clock, Mr. Burthon
was still thinking.

Steve was now progressing finely with the work
on the Kane Aircraft and believed he would be
able to overcome all the imperfections that had
disclosed themselves during the first trial. Mr.
Cumberford came to the hangar nearly every day,
now, and Steve and Orissa began to wonder how
he found time to attend to other business—provided
he had any. On the day of Tyler’s visit he
had announced it was his last trip to see the
Kanes, as he had been summoned to Chicago to
attend a directors’ meeting and from there would
go on to New York. But having discovered that
Burthon was intent upon some secret intrigue,
which could bode no good to his protégés—the
Kanes—he promptly changed his mind and informed
Steve on a subsequent visit that he had arranged
affairs at home and was now free to spend
the entire winter in Southern California.

“My daughter likes it here,” he added, “and
kicks up fewer rows than she does at home; so
that’s a strong point in favor of this location.
106Aviation interests me. I’ve joined the Aëro Club
out here and subscribed for the big meet to be
held in January, at Dominguez Field. That’s
when we are to show the world the Kane invention,
my lad, and I think it will be an eye opener to most
of the crowd present.”

“How does your mine, the Queen of Hearts,
get along?” asked Orissa.

“It continues to pay big—even better than I
had hoped. Burthon must be pretty sore over
that deal by this time. Speaking of my sainted
brother-in-law, I’ve just made a discovery. He
owns the mortgage on your place.”

“Why, we got the money from the Security
Bank!” exclaimed Orissa.

“I know. I went there. Thought I’d take up
the mortgage myself, but found Burthon had
bought it. Now, the question is, why?”

Neither brother nor sister could imagine; but
Cumberford knew.

“He hopes you won’t be able to meet it, and
then he’ll foreclose and turn you out,” he said.
“But you’re not the principal game he’s after;
he’s shooting me over your heads. Burthon is
miffed because I let you have the money, but believes
I haven’t any financial or personal interest
in you beyond that. If he can prevent your aircraft
from flying he’ll make me lose my money
107and also ruin you two youngsters. That’s doubtless
his game. That’s why he sent his man here
to spy upon you.”

“But that is absurd! Burthon can’t prevent
our success,” declared Steve. “Even if some
minor parts go wrong, the aircraft will fly as
strongly and as well as anything now in
existence.”

“Don’t be too sure,” cautioned Mr. Cumberford.
“You and your machine may be all right,
but that’s no reason why Burthon can’t push
failure at you, or even prevent you from flying.
We must watch him.”

“I do not believe the man hates us,” observed
Orissa, thoughtfully. “Mr. Burthon is a little
queer and—and unscrupulous, at times; but I
don’t consider him a bad man, by any means.”

“I know him better than you do, and he hates
me desperately,” replied Cumberford.

“He says that—that you abused his sister,”
doubtfully remarked the girl.

“Well, I did,” said Cumberford, calmly.
“I pounded her two or three times. Once I
choked her until it’s a wonder she ever revived.”

“Oh, how dreadful!” exclaimed Orissa, shrinking
back.

“Isn’t it?” he agreed, lighting a cigarette.
“Only a brute would lift his hand against a
108woman. But Burthon’s sister—my wife—had a
fiendish temper, and her tantrums aroused all the
evil in my nature—there’s plenty there, I assure
you. It was the time I choked her that Burthon
had me arrested for cruelty. She had put poison
in my coffee and I took the fluid into court with
me. Burthon said I was lying and I asked him to
drink the coffee to establish his sister’s innocence.
But he wouldn’t. Pity, wasn’t it? The judge
begged my pardon and said I ought to have choked
her a moment longer. But no; I’m glad I didn’t,
for she died naturally in the end. My dear
daughter, whom I sincerely love, is like her
lamented mother, except that I can trust her not
to poison me.”

“Doesn’t she love you in return?” asked Orissa.

“Sybil? Why, she’s tremendously fond of me.
My daughter,” and his voice grew suddenly tender,
“has been for years—is now—the only person
I live for. We’re chums, we two. The poor child
can’t help her inherited tendencies, you know,
and I rather enjoy the fact that she keeps me
guessing what she’s going to do next. It—er—interests
me, so to speak. I like Sybil.”

Sybil interested Orissa, too. Her father’s reports
of her were so startlingly condemnatory,
and his affection for her so evident, that Orissa’s
curiosity was aroused concerning her. Mr. Cumberford,
in spite of his peculiarities and deprecating
109remarks concerning himself had won the
friendship of both Stephen and Orissa by this
time; for whatever he might be to others he had
certainly proved himself a friend in need to them.
It was evident he liked the Kanes and sought their
companionship, for the aircraft could scarcely account
for his constant attendance at the hangar.

“I would like to meet your daughter,” said the
girl, thoughtfully.

“Would you, really?” he asked, eagerly.
“Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt Sybil to know
you. I’ll bring her out here to-morrow, if she’ll
come. Never can tell what she will do or won’t do,
you know. Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Quite so,” she concurred, laughing at his
whimsical tone.

Because of this conversation the Kanes awaited
Mr. Cumberford’s arrival next day with keen curiosity.
Steve advanced the opinion that the girl
wouldn’t come, but Orissa thought she would.
And she did. When the motor car stopped in
front of the bungalow there was a girl in the back
seat and Orissa ran down the path to welcome her.

A pale, composed face looked out from beneath
a big black hat with immense black plumes. A
black lace waist with black silk bolero and skirt
furnished a somber costume scarcely suited to so
young a girl, for Sybil Cumberford could not have
110been much older than Orissa, if any. Her father
was right when he claimed that Sybil was not
beautiful. She had high, prominent cheek bones,
a square chin and a nose with a decided uplift to
the point. But her brown hair was profuse and
exquisitely silky; her dark eyes large, well opened
and far seeing; her slight form carried with unconscious
grace.

Orissa’s critical glance took in these points at
once, and intuitively she decided that Sybil Cumberford
was not unattractive and ought to win
friends. That she had a strong personality was
evident; also the girl whom her father had affectionately
called a “demon” was quiet, reserved
and undemonstrative—at least during this first
interview.

She acknowledged the introduction to Orissa
with a rather haughty bow, alighting from the car
without noticing Miss Kane’s outstretched hand.

“Which way is the aëroplane, Daddy?” she
asked, speaking not flippantly, but in low, quiet
tones.

“I’ll lead the way; you girls may follow,” he
said.

As they went up the path Orissa, anxious to be
sociable and to put the stranger at her ease, said
brightly:

“Don’t you think the ride out here is
beautiful?”

111“Yes,” responded Sybil.

“The orange groves are so attractive, just
now,” continued Orissa.

There was no response.

“I hope you enjoyed it, so you will be tempted
to come again,” resumed the little hostess.

Miss Cumberford said nothing. Her father,
a step in advance, remarked over his shoulder:
“My daughter seldom wastes words. If you wish
her to speak you must address to her a direct question;
then she will answer it or not, as she pleases.
It’s her way, and you’ll have to overlook it.”

Orissa flushed and glanced sidewise to get a
peep at Sybil’s face, that she might note how the
girl received this personal criticism. But the
features were as unemotional as wax and the dark,
mysterious eyes were directed toward the hangar,
the roof of which now showed plainly. It was
hard to continue a conversation under such adverse
conditions and Orissa did not try. In silence
they traversed the short distance to the shed,
where Steve met them, a little abashed at receiving
a young lady in his workshop.

But Mr. Cumberford’s daughter never turned
her eyes upon him. She gave a graceful little nod
when presented to the inventor, but ignored him
to stare at the aircraft, which riveted her attention
at once.

112“This, Sybil,” said her father, enthusiastically,
“is the famous aëroplane to be known in history as
the Kane Aircraft. It’s as far ahead of the ordinary
biplane as a sewing machine is ahead of a
needle and thimble. It will do things, you know.
So it—er—interests me.”

It seemed to interest her, also. Examining the
details of construction with considerable minuteness
she began asking questions that rather puzzled
Mr. Cumberford, who retreated in favor of
Steve. The inventor explained, and as all his
heart and soul were in the aëroplane he explained
so simply and comprehensively that Sybil’s dark
eyes suddenly flashed upon his face, and clung
there until the young fellow paused, hesitated, and
broke down embarrassed.

Orissa, smiling at Steve’s shyness, picked up the
subject and dilated upon it at length, for the girl
had every detail at her tongue’s end and understood
the mechanism fully as well as her brother
did. The visitor listened to her with interest,
and when she had no more questions to ask stood
in absorbed meditation before the aëroplane, as if
in a dream, and wholly disregarded the others
present.

Mr. Cumberford said frankly to Steve and
Orissa:

“Don’t expect too much of Sybil, or you’ll be
disappointed. She’s peculiar, and the things that
interest her are often those the world cares nothing
for. Anything odd or unusual is sure to strike
her fancy; that’s why she’s so enraptured with
the aircraft.”

The word enraptured did not seem, to Steve,
to describe Sybil’s attitude at all; but Orissa,
watching the girl’s face, decided it was especially
appropriate. They left her standing before the
machine and went on with their work, while Mr.
Cumberford ignored his daughter and smoked cigarettes
while he watched, as usual, every movement
of the young mechanic.

“Saw Burthon this morning,” he remarked,
presently.

“Did he say anything?” asked Steve.

“No. Just smiled. That shows he’s up to
something. Wonder what it is.”

114Steve shook his head.

“I don’t see how that man can possibly injure
me,” he said, musingly. “I’ve gone straight
ahead, in an honest fashion, and minded my own
business. As for the machine, that’s honest, too,
and all my improvements are patented.”

“They’re what?”

“Patented, sir; registered in the patent office
at Washington.”

“Oho!”

Steve looked at him, surprised.

“Well, sir?”

“You’re an irresponsible idiot, Stephen Kane.”

“Because I patented my inventions?”

“Yes, sir; for placing full descriptions and
drawings of them before the public until you’ve
startled the aviation world and are ready to advertise
what you’ve done.”

Steve stared, a perception of Cumberford’s
meaning gradually coming to him.

“Why, as for that,” he said a little uneasily,
“no one ever takes the trouble to read up new
patents, there are so many of them. And, after
all, it’s a protection.”

“Is it? I can put another brace in that new
elevator of yours and get a patent on it as an improvement.
The brace won’t help it any, but it
will give me the right to use it. I’m not positive
115I couldn’t prevent you from using yours, if I got
mine publicly exhibited and on the market first.”

Steve was bewildered, and Orissa looked very
grave. But Mr. Cumberford lighted another cigarette
and added:

“Nevertheless, I wouldn’t worry. As you say,
the patent office is a rubbish heap which few people
ever care to examine. Is everything covered
by patent?”

“Everything but the new automatic balance. I
haven’t had time to send that on.”

“Then don’t.”

“The old one is patented, but it proved a failure
and nearly killed me. The one I am now completing
is entirely different.”

“Good. Don’t patent it until after the aviation
meet. It’s your strongest point. Keep that
one surprise, at least, up your sleeve.”

As Steve was considering this advice Sybil Cumberford
came softly to her father’s side and said:

“Daddy, I want to fly.”

“To flee or to flew?” he asked, banteringly, at
the same time looking at her intently.

“To fly in the air.”

Mr. Cumberford sighed.

“Kane, what will a duplicate of your aircraft
cost?”

“I can’t say exactly, sir,” replied the boy,
smiling.

116“Shall we order one, Sybil?”

She stood staring straight ahead, with that impenetrable,
mysterious look in her dark eyes which
was so typical of the girl. Cumberford threw
away his cigarette and coughed.

“We’ll consider that proposition some time,
Steve,” he continued, rather hastily. “Meantime,
perhaps my daughter could make a trial flight in
your machine.”

“Perhaps,” said Steve, doubtfully.

“Will it carry two?”

“It would support the weight of two easily,”
replied the young man; “but I would be obliged to
rig up a second seat.”

“Do so, please,” requested Miss Cumberford, in
her even, subdued voice. “When will it be
ready?”

“The aircraft will be complete in about ten days
from now; but before I attempt to carry a passenger
I must give it a thorough personal test,”
said Steve, with decision. “You may watch my
flights, Miss Cumberford, if you wish, and after
I’ve proved the thing to be correct and safe I’ll
do what I can to favor you—if you’re not afraid,
and still want to make the trial.”

“Thank you,” she said, and turned away.

“I’ll go myself, some time,” observed Mr. Cumberford,
after a pause. “Flying interests me.”

117Orissa was much amused. She had not known
many girls of her own age, but such as she had met
were all commonplace creatures compared with
this strange girl, who at present seemed unable to
tear herself away from the airship. Sybil did not
convey the impression of being ill-bred or forward,
however unconventional she might be; yet
it seemed to Orissa that she constantly held herself
firmly repressed, yet alert and watchful, much
like a tiger crouched ready to spring upon an unsuspecting
prey. In spite of this uncanny attribute,
Orissa found herself powerfully drawn
toward the peculiar girl, and resolved to make an
attempt to win her confidence and friendship.

With this thought in mind she joined Sybil, who
was again examining the aëroplane with rapt attention.
While she stood at her side the girl asked,
without glancing up:

“Have you ever made a flight?”

“No,” replied Orissa.

“Why not?”

“I haven’t had an opportunity.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“I imagine I would enjoy a trip through the
air,” answered Orissa; “that is, after I became
accustomed to being suspended in such a thin
element.”

“You seem to understand your brother’s invention
perfectly.”

118“Oh, I do, in its construction and use. You
see, I’ve been with Steve from the beginning;
also I’ve examined several other modern aëroplanes
and watched the flights at Dominguez Field.
Naturally I’m enthusiastic over aviation, but I
haven’t yet considered the idea of personally attempting
a flight. To manage a machine in the
air requires a quick eye, a clear brain and a lot
of confidence and courage.”

“Is it so dangerous?” asked Miss Cumberford
quietly.

“Not if you have the qualities I mention and
a bit of experience or training to help you in emergencies.
I’m sure an aëroplane is as safe as a
steam car, and a little safer than an automobile;
but a certain amount of skill is required to manage
even those.”

The girl’s lips curled scornfully, as if she impugned
this statement; but she remained silent
for a while before continuing her catechism.
Then she asked:

“Do you mean to try flying?”

“Perhaps so, some day,” said Orissa, smiling;
“when aëroplanes have become so common that
my fears are dissipated. But, really, I haven’t
given the matter a thought. That is Steve’s business,
just now. All I’m trying to do is help him
get ready.”

119“You believe his device to be practical?”

“It’s the best I have ever seen, and I’ve
examined all the famous aëroplanes.”

“What has my father to do with this
invention?”

Orissa was surprised.

“Hasn’t he told you?” she asked.

“Only that it ‘interests him;’ but many things
do that.”

“We needed money to complete the aircraft,
and Mr. Cumberford kindly let us have it,” explained
the girl.

“What did he demand in return?”

“Nothing but our promise to repay him in case
we succeed.”

Sybil shot a swift glance toward her father.

“Look out for him,” she murmured. “He’s a
dangerous man—in business deals.”

“But this isn’t business,” protested Orissa,
earnestly; “indeed, his act was wholly irregular
from a business standpoint. As a matter of fact,
Mr. Cumberford has been very generous and unselfish
in his attitude toward us. We like your
father, Miss Cumberford, and—we trust him.”

The girl stood silent a moment; then she slowly
turned her face to Orissa with a rare and lovely
smile which quite redeemed its plainness. From
that moment she lost her reserve, toward Orissa
120at least, and it was evident the praise of her father
had fully won her heart.

Day by day, thereafter, Sybil came with Mr.
Cumberford to the hangar, until the important
time arrived when Steve was to test the reconstructed
aircraft. By Cumberford’s advice the
trial was made in the early morning, and in order
to be present both father and daughter accepted
the hospitality of the Kanes for the previous night,
Sybil sharing Orissa’s bed while Steve gave up his
room to Mr. Cumberford and stretched himself
upon a bench in the hangar.

Mrs. Kane knew that her son was to make an
attempt to fly at daybreak, but was quite undisturbed.
The description of the Kane Aircraft,
which Orissa had minutely given her, seemed to
inspire her with full confidence, and if she had a
thought of danger she never mentioned it to anyone.
The Cumberfords were very nice to Mrs.
Kane, while she, in return, accepted their friendship
unreservedly. Orissa knew her mother to be
an excellent judge of character, for while her
affliction prevented her from reading a face her
ear was trained to catch every inflection of a voice,
and by that she judged with rare accuracy. Once
she said to her daughter: “Mr. Cumberford is a
man with a fine nature who has in some way become
embittered; perhaps through unpleasant experiences.
121He does not know his real self, and
mistrusts it; for which reason his actions may at
times be eccentric, or even erratic. But under
good influences he will be found reliable and a safe
friend. His daughter, on the contrary, knows her
own character perfectly and abhors it. As circumstances
direct she will become very bad or
very good, for she has a strong, imperious nature
and may only be influenced through her affections.
I think it is good for her to have you for a friend.”

This verdict coincided well with Orissa’s own
observations and she accepted it as veritable. Yet
Sybil was a constant enigma to her and seldom
could she understand the impulses that dominated
her. The girl was mysterious in many ways. She
saw everything and everyone without looking
directly at them; she found hidden meanings in
the most simple and innocent phrases; always she
seemed suspecting an underlying motive in each
careless action, and Orissa was often uneasy at
Sybil’s implied suggestion that she was not sincere.
The girl would be cold and silent for days
together; then suddenly become animated and
voluble—a mood that suited her much better than
the first. Steve said to his sister: “You may always
expect the unexpected of Sybil.” Which
proved he had also been studying this peculiar girl.

It was the morning of the tenth of December
that the eager little group assembled at dawn on
Marston’s pasture to witness the test of the Kane
Aircraft.

Steve was so occupied with his final adjustments
and anxiety lest he should overlook some important
point, that he never thought of danger.
He would not have remembered even his goggles
had not Orissa handed them to him and told him
to put them on.

This was the first time Mr. Cumberford had witnessed
a performance of the aëroplane, yet he was
much less excited than his daughter, who could
not withdraw her gaze from the device and was
nervously attentive to every move that the young
aviator made. Orissa, confident of the result, was
most composed of all.

When all was ready Steve took his seat, started
the motors, and when they had acquired full speed
threw in the clutch. The aëroplane ran less than
fifty feet on its wheels before it began to rise,
123when it steadily soared into the air and mounted
to an elevation of several hundred feet. By this
time the aviator, who had kept a straight course,
was half a dozen miles from the starting point;
but now he made a wide circle and, returning,
passed over Marston’s pasture at the same high
altitude.

The speed of the aircraft was marvelous. Mr.
Cumberford declared it was making a mile a
minute, which estimate was probably correct.
After circling for a while Steve descended to a
hundred feet in a straight dive, holding the device
in perfect control and maintaining at all times an
exact balance. At a hundred feet he tested the
rudders thoroughly, proving he could alter his
course at will, make sharp turns and circle in a
remarkably small space. Then, having been in
the air twenty-seven minutes by the watch, he
descended to the ground, rolled a hundred feet on
his running gear and came to a halt a few paces
away from the silent, fascinated group of
watchers.

Not a hitch had occurred. The Kane Aircraft
was as perfect a creation as its inventor had
planned it to be.

Orissa gave Steve a kiss when he alighted, but
said not a word. Sybil impulsively seized the
aviator’s hands and pressed them until he flushed
124red. Mr. Cumberford lighted a fresh cigarette,
nodded approvingly and said:

“All right, Steve. It—interests me.”

“It almost seemed alive,” remarked Steve,
with pardonable exuberance. “Why, I believe it
would fly bottom-side-up, if I asked it to!”

“Any changes necessary?” inquired Mr.
Cumberford.

“Only one or two, and those unimportant. The
steering-wheel is too loose and needs tightening.
The left guy-wires are a bit too taut and need to
be relieved. Half an hour’s tinkering and the aircraft
will be as perfect as I know how to make it.”

As they were wheeling it back to the hangar,
Sybil asked:

“Weren’t you frightened, Mr. Kane, when you
were so high above the earth?”

“Oh, no; it is far safer a mile up than it is fifty
or a hundred feet. There are no dangerous air
currents to contend with and the machine glides
more smoothly the more air it has underneath it.
When I am near the earth I sometimes get a little
nervous, but never when I’m far up.”

“But suppose you should fall from that
distance?”

“Fall? Oh, but you can’t fall very easily with
this sort of a biplane. At any angle it’s a kind of
a parachute, you know, for the hinged ends automatically
spread themselves against the air pressure.
And as for a tumble, you know that a fall
of fifty feet would kill one as surely as a fall of
several hundred feet. If a fellow can manage to
stick to his aëroplane he’s pretty safe.”

“It—interests me.”

125“It seems such a frail thing,” observed Sybil,
musingly.

“Just wooden ribs and canvas,” laughed Steve;
“but anything stronger would be unnecessary,
and therefore foolish.”

“Now, then,” said Mr. Cumberford, when the
aircraft rested once more upon its rack, “I’ve
something to tell you, Kane. I’ve known it for
several days, but refrained from speaking until
you had made your trial.”

There was an ominous suggestion in the words.
Steve turned and looked at him questioningly.

“Any bad news, sir?”

“Time will determine if it’s bad or good. Anyhow,
it’s news. Burthon is building an aircraft.”

“An aëroplane?”

“I said an aircraft.”

“But that word designates only my own
machine.”

“Burthon is building your machine.”

Steve stared at him, doubtful if he heard aright.
Orissa stood motionless, growing white and red by
turns. Sybil’s lips curled in a sneer as she said:

126“My clever uncle! What a resourceful man he
is.”

“I—I don’t believe I understand,” stammered
Steve.

“It’s simple enough,” replied Cumberford.
“Burthon sent to Washington for copies of your
plans and specifications, has built a hangar and
workshop over South Pasadena way, and
employed a clever mechanic from Cleveland to
superintend the construction—already well under
way.”

“How do you know this, sir?” inquired Steve,
breathless.

“The clever mechanic from Cleveland is my own
man, who has been my confidential agent for
years.”

“And you permit him to do this work!” cried
the young man, indignantly.

“To be sure. If Brewster loses the job, some
one will get it who is not my agent. It is the only
way I can keep accurate account of what Burthon
is up to.”

They were all silent for a time while they considered
this startling information. By and by
Cumberford said:

“Burthon has joined the Aëro Club, has donated
a handsome cup for the best endurance flight
during the coming meet at Dominguez, and in some
127way has made himself so popular with the officials
that he has been appointed a member of the committee
on arrangements. I dropped in at the Club
yesterday, for I’m a member, and made this discovery.
My scheming brother-in-law has some
dusky, deep laid plan, and is carrying it out with
particular attention to detail.”

“Do you think it concerns us, sir?” asked
Orissa, anxiously.

“Yes. It isn’t extraordinary that Burthon
should take a fancy to aviation. He is full of fads
and fancies, and such a thing is liable to interest
him. It interests me. But the meat in the nut is
the fact that he is building a copy of the Kane
Aircraft, merely adding a few details which he will
declare are improvements.”

“Can’t we issue an injunction and stop him?”
asked Steve.

“I’ve seen a lawyer about that. We can’t prove
infringement at this stage of the game and
it would be folly to attempt it. Burthon’s plan
is to exhibit his machine first, then keep yours off
the field during the meet and afterward claim that
you are infringing upon his rights. He has organized
a stock company, keeping most of the
stock himself, has entered his device in all the
aviation tournaments throughout the country, and
is issuing a circular offering the machines for sale.
128I have a hand proof, fresh from the printer, of
this circular.”

“Who will be his aviator?” asked Steve, with
puckered brows.

“His former chauffeur, Mr. Totham Tyler, is
one. He is now looking for another, also.”

Steve drew a long breath.

“What can we do?” he asked in a bewildered
tone.

“Checkmate him,” was the composed reply.

“How, sir?”

“Well, we know pretty well all Burthon’s
plans. He doesn’t suspect we know a thing; believes
he will be able to keep his secret until his
aëroplane is ready and he can announce it in the
newspapers and create a sensation. He has concocted
a very pretty trick. Until this date no one
has ever heard of the Kane Aircraft. After the
Burthon Improved Biplane is exploited and its
praise on every tongue, you won’t be able to get
even a hearing with your invention, much less a
chance to fly it.”

Steve sat down and covered his face with his
hands. His attitude was one of despair.

“When will Mr. Burthon’s machine be finished?”
asked Orissa, thoughtfully.

“He expects to make the first trial a week from
to-morrow. He has kept a force of expert men at
129work, and they haven’t attempted to make the
Kane engines, but are using a type that has
worked successfully in many biplanes. So his
machine has grown into existence very quickly.”

“A week from to-morrow,” repeated Orissa,
softly. “And Steve is ready to-day.”

Steve looked up quickly. Sybil laughed at him.

“You silly boy,” said she. “Can’t you understand
what Daddy means by a checkmate?”

Steve turned to Mr. Cumberford, who was lighting
a fresh cigarette.

“If you will place the matter in my hands,”
said that gentleman, “I will proceed to put a spoke
in Burthon’s wheel, so to speak. Heretofore,
Steve, I have been a mere onlooker, a—an interested
friend, I may say. At this juncture you’d
better make me your manager.”

“Would you accept the position?” asked the
boy.

“Yes; there isn’t much else to interest me just
now, and—I hate Burthon.”

“Poor uncle!” sighed Sybil.

“On what terms will you undertake this, sir?”
Steve inquired, with anxiety.

“Why, I may have to spend a lot of money;
probably will; and my time’s valuable; when I’m
not here I’m moping at the Alexandria Hotel; so
I propose you give me ten per cent of your profits
for the first three years.”

130“That is absurd, sir,” declared Steve. “There
will be little profit at first, and ten per cent of it
wouldn’t amount to anything.”

Mr. Cumberford smiled—a grim smile that was
one of his peculiarities.

“It’ll do, Steve. I’ll make it pay me well, see
if I don’t. But you may add to the demand, if
you like, by promising to present my daughter the
fourth complete Kane Aircraft your factory turns
out.”

“The first!” cried Steve.

“No, the fourth. We want the first three to go
where they’ll advertise us. Is it a bargain, Mr.
Kane?”

Steve grasped his hand.

“Of course, sir,” he replied gratefully. “I’m
not sure we can defeat Mr. Burthon’s conspiracy,
but I know you will do all that is possible. And
thank you, sir,” he added, again pressing the
elder man’s hand.

Orissa took Mr. Cumberford’s hand next. She
did not express her gratitude in words, but the
man understood her and to hide his embarrassment
began to search for his cigarette case. As for
Sybil, she regarded the scene with an amused
smile, and there was a queer look in her dark eyes.

“Now,” said Orissa, “let us go in to breakfast.
You must all be nearly famished.”

131“Yes; let us eat, so that I can get back to town,”
agreed Mr. Cumberford, cheerfully. “The campaign
begins this very morning, and it may take
a few people by surprise. Remember, Steve,
you’re to stand ready to carry out any plans your
manager makes.”

“I understand, sir.”

Sybil rode with her father into town. On the
way she said:

“You puzzle me. One would imagine you are
playing fair with the Kanes.”

“Mere imagination,” he returned, gruffly.

“Yes,” she agreed; “your nature is to plot and
intrigue. The deeper, the more stealthy and unsuspected
the plot, the more characteristic is it of
my subtle parent.”

“True,” he said.

“But here is a condition that puzzles me, as I
have remarked. I understand how you won the
confidence of the Kanes by posing as generous and
unselfish. That was quite like you. But to-day
you had them in your power. You might have demanded
anything—everything—yet you accepted
a mere ten per cent. Now I’m really wondering
what your game is.”

It was evident he did not relish his daughter’s
criticism, for his usually placid brow bore a heavy
frown. Still, he answered lightly:

133“You’re stirring too deep; you’re roiling the
pot. Why don’t you look on the surface?”

“Oh! how stupid of me,” she said in a relieved
voice.

“To be a diverse scoundrel,” announced her
father, “is the acme of diabolic art. From complication
to simplicity is but a step, yet requires
audacity. Most rascals fail to realize that an
honest act, by way of contrast, affords more satisfaction
than persistent chicanery will produce.
We must have variety in our pleasures in order to
get the most from them.”

“To be sure,” said Sybil.

“Meantime, you are forgetting your Uncle
Burthon.”

They rode in silence for a time. Then the girl
nestled a little closer to her father’s side and
murmured:

“I’m mighty glad, Daddy. I like the Kanes.”

“So do I,” he responded.

“And isn’t Stephen’s aëroplane marvelous?”

“I consider it,” said he, “the cleverest and most
important invention of the age.”

By eight o’clock a skillful photographer was on
his way to Stephen Kane’s hangar to get pictures
of the aircraft, while Mr. Cumberford sat in the
office of a noted advertising expert and bargained
for an amount of publicity that fairly made the
134man’s head swim. The city editors of all the morning
papers were next interviewed and interested
in the Cumberford campaign, so that half a dozen
reporters who were noted for their brilliant
descriptive writing attended a luncheon given by
Mr. Cumberford at the Aëro Club and listened to
his glowing accounts of the Kane Aircraft and the
wonderful flight made by its inventor that very
morning.

For fear Mr. Burthon might drop into the Club
during this session, the cautious “manager” of the
aircraft had taken the precaution to have
Brewster telephone him to come to the South
Pasadena workshop, and to keep him there by
some pretext till late in the day. This was done.
Mr. Burthon spent the entire afternoon with his
imitation aircraft, returning to Los Angeles for a
late dinner at his club. Then, being very tired, he
went early to bed.

At breakfast next morning he picked up a newspaper,
started as his eye fell upon the lurid headlines,
and nearly fainted with chagrin and anger.

Upon the first page was a large picture of the
Kane Aircraft, with a vignette of its inventor in
an upper corner and columns of description and
enthusiastic comment regarding his creation,
which was heralded as a distinct forward stride in
practical aviation. Stephen’s remarkable flight
135was referred to and promise made of an exhibition
soon to be held at Dominguez Field where the
public would be given an opportunity to see the
aircraft in action.

Mr. Burthon, as soon as he could recover himself,
read every word carefully. Then he smoked
his cigar and thought it over. Half an hour later
he was making the rounds of the evening papers,
but found he was unable to “kill” the articles prepared
to exploit the Kane Aircraft. The morning
papers having devoted so much space to the subject,
the afternoon papers could not possibly ignore
it, and finding he was helpless in this attempt
he followed another tack.

Entering the office of the secretary of the Aëro
Club he said:

“I believe our contract with the owners of
Dominguez Field provides that the Aëro Club may
have the use of the grounds whenever it so desires,
regardless of any other engagements by
outsiders.”

“Certainly,” replied the secretary. “I remember
you yourself insisted upon that condition,
as chairman of the committee on arrangements.”

“Please notify the manager that we require
Dominguez Field, for Club purposes, every day
for the next two weeks.”

“But—Mr. Burthon! Think of the expense.”

136“I shall personally pay all charges.”

“Very well.”

The secretary telephoned, and was informed
that the Field had been engaged that morning for
the coming Saturday by a Mr. Cumberford, an
Aëro Club member. But Mr. Burthon insisted
on the rights of the Club, as an organization,
and the manager agreed to cancel Cumberford’s
engagement.

From there Mr. Burthon went to the managers
of the Motordrome, the baseball parks and Luna,
engaging every open date for two weeks to come.
Then having practically tied up every available
place where the Kane Aircraft might be publicly
exhibited, he sighed contentedly and went to his
South Pasadena workshop to hasten the completion
of his own aëroplane.

Mr. Cumberford was annoyed when he received
notice that he could not have Dominguez Field for
any day previous to the aviation meet. He was
further annoyed by the discovery that Burthon
had engaged every public amusement park in the
vicinity of Los Angeles. But he was not the man
to despair in such an emergency; the contest
between him and his hated brother-in-law merely
sharpened his wits and rendered him more alert.

He found a broad vacant field on the Santa
Monica car line; arranged with the street railway
137company to carry the people there for a five cent
fare, and tied up his deals with contracts so that
Burthon would be unable to interfere. Then he
ordered a large grand stand to be built and instead
of fencing in the grounds determined to make the
exhibition absolutely free to all who cared to
attend.

These arrangements completed, Mr. Cumberford
announced in glaring advertisements the
date of the exhibition, and decided he had won the
game.

Mr. Burthon tried to enjoin the exhibition,
claiming that Stephen Kane’s aircraft was an
infringement on his own device; but Stephen personally
appeared before the judge and convinced
him there was nothing in the assertion. Of course
Mr. Cumberford saw that the newspapers had full
accounts of these proceedings, and so public
interest was keyed up to the highest pitch when
Saturday arrived. The cars on that day were
taxed to their fullest capacity to carry the crowds
to Kane Park, as the new aviation field was called.

A large and attractive hangar had been constructed
on the field, and Stephen, on the morning
of the exhibition, flew his aëroplane from Marston’s
pasture to Kane Park, alighting successfully
just before the hangar. Orissa, Sybil and
Mr. Cumberford were there to receive him, and
138after placing the aircraft safely in the new hangar
they all motored to town for breakfast at the
Alexandria.

It was no longer possible for Steve to take entire
personal charge of his invention, so Mr. Cumberford,
having made a careful search, was finally
able to secure two men, who until that time had
been strangers to one another, as assistants.
These men were skilled mechanics and recommended
as honest and reliable—which perhaps
they were under ordinary circumstances. Their
names were Wilson and Reed. As they had
already been two days in Stephen’s workshop and
were now thoroughly conversant with their duties,
these two men were left at the hangar in charge of
the aëroplane, with instructions to watch it carefully
and allow no one to enter or to examine it.

Steve needed rest, for he had worked night and
day preparing for this important public test. The
exhibition was to be held at two o’clock, so he
reluctantly acceded to Mr. Cumberford’s request
that he lie down in a quiet room at the hotel and
sleep until he was called to lunch.

Orissa had not been at all nervous over the
event at Kane Park until the hour when she
entered the field and noted the tremendous throng
assembled to witness her brother’s much heralded
flight. The band was playing vigorously and
many gay banners waved over the grand stand
and the big hangar wherein the aircraft was hidden.
Then, indeed, she began to realize the importance
of the occasion, and her heart throbbed
with pride to think that Steve was the hero all
awaited and that his name would be famous from
this time forth.

This was the 17th of December, and on January
first the great International Aviation Meet
was to be held at Los Angeles, with such famous
aviators present as the Wright Brothers, Glenn
Curtiss, Hubert Latham, Arch Hoxsey, their old
friend Willard, Parmalee, Ely, Brookins, Radley
and many others. Mr. Cumberford had entered
Stephen Kane for this important meet and the
young man was booked to take part in the endurance
140and speed tests and to make an attempt
to break the world’s record for altitude—all in his
own flyer, the Kane Aircraft. So swift a transition
from obscurity to popularity—or at least
to the attention of the civilized world—was enough
to turn the head of anyone; but as yet Steve
seemed all unaware of his own importance.

Disregarding the crowds, which were eagerly
seeking a glimpse of the young aviator but did not
know him, he quietly made his way to the hangar
and was admitted by Wilson, who guarded the
doorway from an insistent group demanding a
peep at the aëroplane.

Steve took off his coat, made a thorough inspection
of all the working parts, and then put on his
close-fitting cap and goggles, buttoned a sweater
over his chest and nodded to his men to throw back
the entrance curtains.

Two policemen cleared the way and as the
aviator drew back his lever the aircraft rolled out
of the hangar into full view of the multitude. A
shout went up; handkerchiefs were waved and the
band played frantically. On its big wheels, which
were almost large enough for a motor car, the
aëroplane sped across the field, turned, passed the
grand stand, and with accelerating speed dashed
away to the farther end of the field.

A murmur arose, in which surprise and disappointment
141were intermingled. One fat gentleman,
who had been patiently waiting for two hours,
exclaimed: “Why, it’s only a sort of automobile,
with crossed airplanes set over it! I thought they
claimed the thing could fly.” Those who knew
something of aviation, however, were the ones
astonished at Steve’s preliminary performance.
They realized the advantage of being able to drive
an aëroplane on its own wheels, as an automobile
goes, in case of emergencies, and moreover the
“crossed planes”—a distinct innovation in construction—gave
them considerable food for
thought. Usually the two surfaces, or floats, of a
biplane are exactly parallel, one above the other;
but in Steve’s machine the upper plane ran fore
and aft, while the lower one extended sidewise.
At a glance it was possible to see the advantage
of this arrangement as a duplex balance, which,
with the swinging wing-ends, comprised the safety
device that the inventor believed made his aëroplane
superior to any other.

From the far end of the field Steve swung
around and started back, straight for the grand
stand. He had nearly reached it when he threw
in the clutch that started the propellers and at the
same time slightly elevated the front rudder. Up,
like a bird taking wing, rose the aircraft, soaring
above the grand stand and then describing a series
142of circles over the field. Gradually it ascended,
as if the aviator was ascending an aërial spiral
staircase, until he had mounted so far among the
clouds that only a grayish speck was discernible.

The spectators held their breaths in anxious
suspense. The speck grew larger. Swooping
down at a sharp angle the aircraft came suddenly
into view and within a hundred feet of the ground
resumed its normal position and began to circle
around the field again.

Now a mighty cheer went up, and Orissa, who
had been pressing Sybil’s hand with a grip that
made her wince, found herself sobbing with joy.
Her brother’s former flights had been almost as
successful as this; but only now, with the plaudits
of a multitude ringing in her ears, did she realize
the wonderful thing he had accomplished.

But on a sudden the shout was stilled. A
startled, frightened moan ran through the assemblage.
Women screamed, men paled and more
than one onlooker turned sick and faint.

For the Kane Aircraft, while gracefully gliding
along, in full view of all, was seen to suddenly
collapse and crumple like a pricked toy balloon.
Aëroplane and aviator fell together in a shapeless
mass toward the earth, and the sight was enough
to dismay the stoutest heart.

But Steve’s salvation lay in his altitude at the
143time of the accident. Fifty feet from the earth the
automatic planes asserted their surfaces against
the air and arrested, to an appreciable extent, the
plunge. Had it been a hundred feet instead of
fifty the young man might have escaped without
injury, but the damaged machine had acquired so
great a momentum that it landed with a shock that
unseated young Kane and threw him underneath
the weight of the motor and gasoline tank.

A dozen ready hands promptly released him
from the wreck, but when they tried to lift him
to his feet he could not stand. His leg was broken.

Mr. Cumberford locked the doors of the hangar
and refused to admit anyone but his own daughter.
Even Reed and Wilson, having assisted to drag
the wreck to its shed, were ordered peremptorily
to keep out. Wilson obeyed without protest, but
Reed was angry and said it was his duty to put the
aircraft into shape again. Cumberford listened
to him quietly; listened to his declaration that he
had had nothing to do with the construction of the
aëroplane and therefore could in no way be held
responsible for the accident; and after the man
had had his say his employer asked him to come
to his hotel in the evening to consider what should
be done. He also made an appointment with Wilson.
Then he shut himself up in the hangar with
Sybil.

Orissa had gone with Steve in the ambulance to
the hospital, where she remained by his side until
the leg was set and the young man felt fairly
comfortable. The injury was not very painful, but
Steve was in great mental distress because his accident
145would prevent his taking part in the aviation
meet. All their carefully made plans for the
successful promotion of the Kane Aircraft were
rendered futile by this sudden reverse of fortune,
and the youthful inventor constantly bewailed the
fact that Burthon would now have a clear field
and his own career be ignominiously ended.

Orissa had little to say in reply, for her own
heart was aching and she saw no way to comfort
her brother. When he was settled in his little
white room, with a skillful nurse in attendance, the
girl went home to break the sad news to their
blind mother.

Meantime Mr. Cumberford was busy at the
hangar. In spite of his usual nonchalance and
obtuse manner—both carefully assumed—the man
had a thorough understanding of mechanics and
by this time knew every detail of young Kane’s
aëroplane quite intimately. Also, he was a shrewd
and logical reasoner, and well knew the accident
had been due to some cause other than faulty parts
or inherent weakness of the aircraft. So he took
off his coat, rolled up his shirt sleeves and began a
careful examination of the wreck.

It was Sybil, however, who stood staring at the
aëroplane, always fascinating to her, who first discovered
the cause of Steve’s catastrophe.

“See here, Daddy,” she exclaimed; “this guy-wire
146has been cut half through, in some way,
and others are broken entirely.”

Mr. Cumberford came to her side and inspected
the guy-wire. The girl was right. It was certainly
odd that several strands of the slender but strong
woven-wire cable had parted. Her father took a
small magnifying glass from his pocket and examined
the cut with care.

“It has been filed,” he announced.

Sybil nodded, but she seemed absent-minded and
to have lost interest in the discovery.

“From the first I suspected the guy-wires,” she
said. “When the aircraft collapsed I knew the
wires had parted, and then—I thought of my
clever uncle.”

Mr. Cumberford rolled down his sleeves and put
on his coat.

“Three of the wires gave way,” he observed,
“and it’s a wonder young Kane wasn’t killed.
Come, ’Bil; we’ll go back to the hotel.”

They found the field deserted, their motor car
being the last on the grounds. During the ride
into town Sybil remarked:

“This affair will cause you serious loss,
Daddy.”

“Why?”

“Steve can’t exhibit his device at the meet, and
Uncle Burthon will be on hand to win all the
laurels.”

147“Don’t worry over that,” he said grimly.
“We’ve ten days in which to outwit Burthon, and
if I can’t manage to do it in that time I deserve
to lose my money.”

Wilson came to the hotel promptly at eight
o’clock for his interview with Mr. Cumberford.
Said that gentleman:

“Tell me all that happened at the hangar after
we left you and Reed there this morning.”

The man seemed reluctant at first, but finally
decided to tell the truth. He appeared to be an
honest young fellow, but knew quite well that his
testimony would injure his fellow assistant.

“It was quite early, sir, when an automobile
came into the field and a gentleman asked to see
the aircraft. Mr. Reed was at the door, at the
time, and I heard him reply that no one could be
admitted. Then the gentleman said something
to him in a low voice and Reed, after a little hesitation,
turned to me and told me to guard the
door. I did so, and the two walked away together.
I saw them in close conversation for quite a while,
and then Reed came back to the hangar and said:
‘The gentleman is having trouble with his motor
car, Wilson, and one of his engines is working
badly. You understand such things; go and see if
you can help him, while I guard the door.’

“I thought that was queer, sir, for Reed is as
148good a mechanic as I am; but I took a wrench and
walked over to the automobile, which was not a
hundred yards distant. A little dried-up chauffeur
was in the driver’s seat. The gentleman asked
me to test the engines, which I did, and found
there was nothing wrong with them at all. I
hadn’t been a bit suspicious until then, but this
set me thinking and I hurried back to the hangar.
I hadn’t been away ten minutes, and I found Reed
standing in the doorway quietly smoking his pipe.
Everything about the aircraft seemed all right, so
I said nothing to Reed except that his friend was a
ringer and up to some trick. He answered that
the man was no friend of his; that he had never
seen him before and was not likely to see him
again. That is all, sir. I didn’t leave the hangar
again until Mr. Kane returned and took charge of
it.”

Mr. Cumberford had listened intently.

“Do you know the name of the man with the
automobile?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“Describe him, please.”

Wilson described Burthon with fair accuracy.

“Thank you. You may go now, but I want you
on hand to-morrow morning to assist in getting
the machine back to Kane’s old hangar.”

“Very well, sir.”

149Reed came a half hour after Wilson had left.
His attitude was swaggering and defiant. Mr.
Cumberford said to him:

“Reed, your action in filing the guy-wires is a
crime that will be classed as attempted manslaughter.
You are liable to imprisonment for
life.”

The man grew pale, but recovering himself
replied:

“I didn’t file the wires. You can’t prove it.”

“I’m going to try, anyway,” declared Cumberford.
“That is, unless you confess the truth, in
which case I’ll prosecute Burthon instead of
you.”

Reed stared at him but, stubbornly made no
reply.

“How much did he pay you for the work?” continued
Cumberford.

No answer.

Mr. Cumberford touched a bell and a detective
entered.

“Officer, I accuse this man of an attempt to
murder Stephen Kane,” said he. “You overheard
the recent interview in this room and understand
the case perfectly and the evidence on which I base
my charge. You will arrest Mr. Reed, if you
please.”

The officer took the man in charge. Reed was
150nervous and evidently terrified, but maintained a
stubborn silence.

“Confession may save you,” suggested Cumberford;
but Reed was pursuing some plan previously
determined on, and would not speak. So
the officer led him away.

Next morning the wrecked aëroplane was transferred
to the workshop in the Kane garden, where
Wilson, under the supervision of Orissa and Mr.
Cumberford, began taking it apart that they
might estimate the damage it had sustained.
Orissa’s face bore a serious but determined expression
and she directed the work as intelligently
as Steve could have done. Cumberford, who had
brought a pair of overalls, worked beside Wilson
and in a few hours they were able to tell exactly
what repairs were necessary.

“The motors are not much injured,” announced
Orissa, “and that is indeed fortunate. We need
one new propeller blade, five bows and struts for
the lower plane, new wing ends and guy-wires and
almost a complete new running gear. It isn’t so
very bad, sir. With the extra parts we have on
hand I believe the aircraft can be put in perfect
condition before the meet.”

“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Cumberford. “Then
our greatest need is to secure a competent
aviator.”

151“To operate Stephen’s machine?”

“Of course. He’s out of commission, poor lad;
but the machine must fly, nevertheless.”

Orissa’s blue eyes regarded him gravely. She
had been considering this proposition ever since
the accident.

“Our first task,” said she, “is to get my
brother’s invention thoroughly repaired.”

“But the question of the aviator is fully as important,”
persisted her friend. “Wilson,” turning
to the mechanic, “do you think you could
operate the aircraft?”

“Me, sir?” replied the man, with a startled
look; “I—I’m afraid not. I understand it, of
course; but I’ve had no experience.”

“No one but Stephen Kane can claim to have
had experience with this device,” said Mr. Cumberford;
“so someone must operate it who is, as
yet, wholly inexperienced.”

“Can’t you find an aviator who has used other
machines, sir?” asked Wilson. “The city is full
of them just now.”

“I’ll try,” was the answer.

Mr. Cumberford did try. After engaging another
mechanic to assist Wilson he interviewed
every aviator he could find in Los Angeles. But
all with the slightest experience in aërial navigation
were engaged by the various aëroplane manufacturers
152to operate their devices, or had foreign
machines of their own which were entered for competition.
He was referred to several ambitious
and fearless men who would willingly undertake to
fly the Kane invention, but he feared to trust them
with so important a duty.

Returning one day in a rather discouraged mood
to Orissa, who was busy directing her men, he
said:

“I have always, until now, been able to find a
man for any purpose I required; but the art of
flying is in its infancy and the few bold spirits
who have entered the game are all tied up and unavailable.
It looks very much as if we were going
to have a winning aëroplane with no one to develop
its possibilities.”

Orissa was tightening a turnbuckle. She looked
up and said with a smile:

“The aviator is already provided, sir.”

“What! You have found him?” exclaimed Mr.
Cumberford.

“I ought to have said ‘aviatress,’ I suppose,”
laughed the girl.

“My daughter? Nonsense.”

“Oh, Sybil would undertake it, if I’d let her,”
replied Orissa. “But I dare not trust anyone
but—myself. There is too much at stake.”

“You!”

153“Just Orissa Kane. I’ve been to the hospital
this morning and talked with Steve, and he quite
approves my idea.”

Mr. Cumberford looked at the slight, delicate
form with an expression of wonder. The girl
seemed so dainty, so beautiful, so very feminine
and youthful, that her suggestion to risk her life
in an airship was positively absurd.

“You’ve a fine nerve, my child,” he remarked,
with a sigh, “and I’ve no doubt you would undertake
the thing if I’d give my consent. But of
course I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not fit.”

“In what way?”

“Why, er—strength, and—and experience.
Girls don’t fly, my dear; they simply encourage
the men to risk their necks.”

“Boo! there’s no danger,” asserted Orissa,
scornfully. “One is as safe in the Kane Aircraft
as in a trundle-bed.”

“Yet Steve—”

“Oh, one may be murdered in bed, you know, as
well as in an aëroplane. Had those guy-wires not
been tampered with an accident to my brother
would have been impossible. Have you stopped to
consider, sir, that even when the planes separated
and crumpled under the air pressure Steve’s device
154asserted its ability to float, and dropped gently
to the ground? Steve managed to get hurt
because he fell under the weight of the motors;
that was all. Really, sir, I can’t imagine anything
safer than the aircraft. And as for brawn
and muscle, you know very well that little strength
is required in an aviator. Skill is called for; a
clear head and a quick eye; and these qualities I
possess.”

“H-m. You think you can manage the thing?”

“I know it—absolutely. I’ve talked over with
Steve every detail from the very beginning, and
have personally tested all the working parts time
and again, except in actual flight.”

“And you’re not afraid?”

“Not in the least.”

“You won’t faint when you find yourself among
the clouds?”

“Not a faint, sir. It isn’t in me.”

Mr. Cumberford fell silent and solemn. He began
to seriously consider the proposition.

That evening the secretary of the Aëro Club
telephoned Mr. Cumberford to ask if he wished to
withdraw his entry from contest in the coming
aviation meet.

“By no means,” was the reply.

“But you state that Kane is to be the aviator,
and we are informed that Kane has a broken leg.”

“Leave the entry as it stands: ‘Kane, Aviator,’”
said Cumberford, positively.

“Very well, sir,” returned the secretary, evidently
puzzled.

But his friend Burthon, who had suggested his
telephoning, was highly pleased when he learned
Mr. Cumberford’s decision.

“All right,” he observed, with satisfaction;
“we’ll leave the Kane Aircraft on the programme,
for everyone is talking of the wonderful device and
the announcement of its competition will be the
greatest drawing card we have. But the entry of
‘Kane, Aviator’ will disqualify anyone but Kane
from operating the aircraft, and I happen to know
156his leg is in a plaster cast and he cannot use it for
months to come.”

“Won’t it hurt us to disqualify the Kane Aircraft
and have it withdrawn at the last moment?”
inquired the secretary, doubtfully.

“No; for I’m going to spring on the crowd
the biggest surprise of the century—Burthon’s
Biplane.”

“Are you sure of its success, sir?”

“Absolutely. Kane copied his machine from
mine, as I have before explained to you, and in addition
to all the good points he has exhibited I have
the advantage of a perfect automatic balance. If
Kane’s device had been equipped with it he
wouldn’t have fallen the other day.”

Perhaps Mr. Burthon was sincere in saying this.
He had had no opportunity to examine Stephen’s
latest creation at close quarters, but on the day of
the trial at Kane Park he had observed the fact
that Stephen had abandoned the automatic balance
he had first patented, and now had recourse to
crossed planes. Both Burthon and his mechanics
considered the original device the best and most
practical, and they depended upon it for the biggest
advertisement of Burthon’s Improved Biplane,
having of course no hint that Stephen had
tested it and found it sadly lacking.

On the 26th the Burthon flyer was ready for
157trial, and Tot Tyler, after several attempts, got it
into the air and made a short flight that filled the
heart of Mr. Burthon with elation.

“Curtiss and the Wrights will do better than
that, though,” observed the ex-chauffeur, “to say
nothing of those daredevils Latham and Hoxsey.
I’ll improve after a few more trials, but I can’t
promise ever to do better than the other fellows
do.”

“That isn’t to be expected,” returned Burthon.
“I’m not backing you to excel the performances of
the old aviators; that isn’t my point. The improvements
and novelties we have to show will
take the wind out of the sails of all other aëroplanes
and result in a flood of orders. Comparing
machine for machine, we’re years in advance of
the Wrights and Curtiss—and centuries ahead of
those foreign devices.”

“Perhaps,” admitted Tot. “But Kane’s aëroplane
is practically the same as your own, and it is
still on the programme.”

“It won’t fly, though,” declared Burthon, with
a laugh. “Don’t worry about anything but your
own work, Tyler. Leave all the rest to me.”

The man knew his employer was playing a hazardous
game and that he had stolen outright the
Kane Aircraft, and while the knowledge did not
add to Tot Tyler’s nerve or assurance he was gleeful
158over the prospect of “doing” his enemy, Cumberford.
The little fellow was bold enough—even
to the point of bravery—and fully as unprincipled
as his employer. His hatred of Cumberford was
so acrid that he would have gone to any length,
even without pay, to defeat his plans, and Burthon
found him an eager and willing tool. Nevertheless,
the little man scented danger ahead of them
and had an idea that trouble was brewing from
some unknown source.

By this time Burthon had begun a campaign of
widespread publicity, and in spite of the long list
of famous aviators in the city the newspapers were
filled with pictures of the Burthon device and accounts
of the marvelous flights of Totham Tyler.
Nothing more was heard of the Kane Aircraft, but
the public had not forgotten it and many were puzzled
that two local aëroplane makers should be exhibiting
identically the same improvements, each
claiming to have originated them. As for the visiting
aviators, they were interested, but held their
peace. The performances at the coming competition
would tell the story of supremacy, and whatever
good points were displayed by the local inventors
could doubtless be adapted to their own
craft. They waited, therefore, for proof of the
glowing claims made in the newspapers. Many
promising inventions have turned out to be
failures.

159The public was, to an extent, in the same doubting
mood. Kane’s magnificent public flight had
ended with an accident, while Tyler’s preliminary
exhibitions were in no way remarkable as
compared with records already established. The
meet would tell the story.

Meantime Orissa completed her repairs. On
the day that Steve came home from the hospital in
an ambulance she wheeled him in an invalid chair
to the hangar and allowed the boy to inspect a
perfect aircraft. The young man suffered no
pain, and although he was physically helpless his
eye and brain were as keen as ever. Being
wheeled around the device, so that he could observe
it from all sides and at all angles, he made a thorough
examination of his sister’s work and declared
it excellent.

“Think you can manage it, Ris?” he asked, referring
to her proposed venture.

“I am sure I can,” she promptly replied. “You
must understand—all of you,” turning to confront
Mr. Cumberford and Sybil, who were present,
“that I am not undertaking this flight from
choice. Had Steve been able to exhibit his own
aëroplane I might never have tried to fly alone; but
it seems to me that our fortune, my brother’s future
career, and our friend Mr. Cumberford’s
investment, all hinge upon our making a good
160showing at Dominguez Field. No one but me is
competent to properly exhibit the aircraft, to show
all its good points and prove what it is capable of
doing. Therefore I have undertaken to save our
reputation and our money, and I am sure that my
decision is proper and right.”

“I agree with you,” said Steve, eagerly.
“You’re a brave little girl, Ris.”

“I have but one request to make, Mr. Cumberford,”
she added.

“What is it, Orissa?” he inquired.

“Do not advertise me as ‘The Girl Aviator,’ or
by any other such name. I prefer people should
remain ignorant of the fact that a girl is operating
the Kane Aircraft. Can’t you keep quiet about
it?”

“I can, and will,” he asserted. “Indeed, my
dear, I much prefer that course. It will be all
the more interesting when—when—the discovery
is made.”

“I do not wish to become a celebrity,” she said,
seriously. “One in the family is enough,” glancing
proudly at Steve, “and I’m afraid nice people
would think me unmaidenly and bold to become a
public aviator. I’m not at all freakish—indeed,
I’m not!—and only stern necessity induces me to
face this ordeal.”

“My dear,” said Mr. Cumberford, looking at
161her admiringly, “your feelings shall be considered
in every possible way. But you must not imagine
you are the first female aviator. In Europe—especially
in France—a score of women have made
successful flights, and not one is considered unwomanly
or has forfeited any claim to the world’s
respect and applause.”

“The most successful aviators of the future,”
remarked Stephen, thoughtfully, “are bound to
be women. As a rule they are lighter than men,
more supple and active, quick of perception and
less liable to lose their heads in emergencies. The
operation of an aëroplane is, it seems to me, especially
fitted to women.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Sybil, with a whimsical glance
at the speaker, “I have discovered my future vocation.
I shall aviate parties of atmospheric
tourists. When the passenger airships are introduced
I’ll become the original sky motoress, and
so win fame and fortune.”

Steve laughed, but shook his head.

“The airship of the future will not be a passenger
affair,” he predicted, “but an individual
machine for personal use. They’ll be cheaper
than automobiles, and more useful, for they can
go direct to their destination in a straight ‘air-line.’
Men will use them to go to business, women
to visit town on shopping expeditions or to
162take an airing for pleasure; but I’m sure they will
be built for but one person.”

“Then I’ll have one and become a free lance in
the sky, roaming where I will,” declared Sybil.

This unconventional girl had developed a decided
fancy for the inventor, and while in his presence
it was noticed that she became less reserved
and mysterious than at other times. Steve liked
Sybil, too, although she was so strong a contrast
to his own beautiful sister. When she cared to be
agreeable Miss Cumberford proved interesting
and was, Steve thought, “good company.” Orissa
observed that Sybil invariably presented the
best side of her character to Steve. While he was
in the hospital the girl visited him daily, and now
that he had come home again she passed most of
her time at the hangar.

Mr. Cumberford was greatly annoyed to learn
that the Kane headquarters at Dominguez Field
had been given a location in the rear of all the
others, where it would be practically unnoticed.
Of course this slight was attributed to Burthon’s
influence with the committee of arrangements, of
which he was a member. Burthon’s own hangar,
on the contrary, had a very prominent position.
From his man Brewster, as well as from others,
Mr. Cumberford also learned that Burthon had
hinted he would prevent the Kane Aircraft from
taking any part in the contests.

163All these things worried the Kane party, whose
anxieties would have been sufficient had they not
been forced to encounter the petty malice of Burthon.
Sybil, silently listening to all that was said,
assumed a more mysterious air than usual, and on
the day previous to the opening of the great aviation
meet she informed her father that she would
not accompany him to Dominguez, where he was
bound to attend to all final preparations. The decision
surprised him, but being accustomed to his
daughter’s sudden whims he made no reply and
left her in their rooms at the hotel.

When her father had gone Sybil addressed a
note to Mr. Burthon which read:

“I will call upon you, at your club, for a private
interview at twelve o’clock precisely. As all your
future depends upon this meeting you will not fail
to keep the appointment.”

She signed this message with the initials “S.
C.” and Mr. Burthon, receiving it as he was about
to start for Dominguez in his motor car, for the
messenger had had a lively chase over town to
catch him, read and reread the epistle carefully,
was thoughtful a moment, and then ordered his
man to drive him to the club.

“‘S. C.,’” he mused; “who on earth can it be?
A woman’s handwriting, of course, crude and unformed.
When women intrigue there is usually a
reason for it. Better find out what’s in the wind,
even at the loss of a little valuable time. That’s
the safest plan.”

He reached his club at exactly twelve o’clock and
heard a woman inquiring for him of the doorkeeper.
165He met her, bowed, and without a word
led her to his own private sitting room, on the
third floor. The woman—or was it a girl?—was,
he observed, heavily veiled, but as soon as they
were alone she removed the veil and looked at him
steadfastly from a pair of dark, luminous eyes.

Mr. Burthon shifted uneasily in his chair. He
had never seen the girl before, yet there was something
singularly familiar in her features.

“Be good enough to tell me who you are,” he
said in the gentle tone he invariably employed toward
women. “I have granted this interview at
your request, but I am very busy to-day and have
little time to spare you.”

“I am your niece,” she replied, slowly and
deliberately.

“Oh!” he exclaimed; then paused to observe her
curiously. “So, you are my sister Marian’s
daughter.”

“Exactly.”

“I knew she had a child, for often she wrote me
about it; but her early death and my estrangement
with your father prevented me from seeing you,
until now. Your mother, my dear, was a—a
noble woman.”

“You are not telling the truth,” said Sybil,
quietly. “She was quite the contrary.”

He started and flushed. Then he replied, somewhat
confused by the girl’s scornful regard:

166“At least, I loved her. She was my only
sister.”

“And your accomplice.”

“Eh?” He stared, aghast. Then, quickly recovering
himself, he remarked:

“You were rather too young, when she died, to
judge your mother’s character correctly.”

“It is true; but I remember her with
abhorrence.”

“Your father, on the other hand,” observed Mr.
Burthon, his face hardening, “might well deserve
your hatred and aversion. He is a scoundrel.”

“I have heard him say so,” replied Sybil, smiling,
“but I do not believe it. In any event his iniquity
could not equal that of the Burthons.”

“We are complimentary,” said her uncle, returning
the smile with seeming amusement. “But
I regret to say I have no time to further converse
with you to-day. Will you call again, if you have
anything especial to say to me?”

“No,” replied Sybil. “You must listen to me
to-day.”

“To-morrow—”

“To-morrow,” she interrupted, “you may be
in prison. It is not easy to interview criminals in
jail, is it?”

He looked at her now with more than curiosity;
his gaze was searching, half fearful, inquiring.

167“You speak foolishly,” said he.

“Yet you understand me perfectly,” she
returned.

“I confess that I do not,” he coldly persisted.

“Then I must explain,” said she. “When my
mother died I was but eight years of age. But I
was old for my years, and on her deathbed your
sister placed in my hands a sealed envelope, directing
me to guard it carefully and secretly, and
not to open it until I was eighteen years of age—and
not then unless I had in some way incurred
the enmity and persecution of my uncle, George
Burthon. She said it was her confession.”

He sat perfectly still, as if turned to stone, his
eyes fixed full upon the girl’s face. With an effort
he said, in a soft voice:

“Have I persecuted you?”

“Indirectly; yes.”

“But you cannot be eighteen yet!”

“No,” she admitted; “I am only seventeen.”

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Then—”

“But I am half a Burthon,” Sybil continued,
“and therefore have little respect for the wishes
of others—especially when they interfere with
my own desires. I kept the letter my mother gave
me, but had no interest in opening it until the other
day.”

168“And you read it then?”

“Two or three times—perhaps half a dozen—with
great care.”

“Where is that letter now?”

“Where you cannot find it, clever as you are. I
may say I have great respect for your cleverness,
my dear uncle, since reading the letter. How paltry
the story of Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde seems
after knowing you!”

He moved uneasily in his seat; but the man was
on the defensive now, and eyed his accuser
steadily.

“You seem much like your mother,” he suggested,
reflectively.

“But you are wrong; I am more like my
father.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“What matter, my child? You have a rare inheritance,
on either side.”

They sat in silence a moment. Then he said:

“You have not yet confided to me your errand.”

“True. I have a request to make which I am
sure you will comply with. You must stop annoying
the Kanes.”

He smiled at her.

“You have marked them for your own prey—you
and your precious father?”

“Yes. Your persecution must cease, and at
once.”

169He seemed thoughtful.

“I have an end in view,” said he; “an important
end.”

“I know; you want to force Orissa to marry
you. But that is absurd. She is scarcely half
your age, and—she despises you.”

He flushed at this.

“Nevertheless—”

“I won’t have it!” cried Sybil, sternly. “And,
another thing: you must withdraw your aëroplane
from the aviation meet to-morrow.”

“Must?”

“I used the word advisedly. I have the power
to compel you to obey me, and I intend to use it.”

He sat watching her with his eyes slightly narrowed.
Sybil was absolutely composed.

“Your mother, my dear,” he presently remarked,
“was a—charming woman, but inclined to
be visionary and imaginative. I have no idea
what she wrote in that letter, but if it is anything
that asperses my character, my integrity or fairness,
it is not true, and can only be accounted for
by the fact that the poor creature was driven insane
by your father, and did not know what she
was doing.”

“Oh, indeed!” the girl retorted. “Is it not
true, then, that you were convicted in Baltimore,
twenty years ago, of a dastardly murder and robbery,
170and sentenced by the court to life imprisonment?
Is it not true that my mother at that time
contrived your escape and secreted you so cleverly
that the officers of the law could never find you?”

“It is not true,” he declared, speaking with apparent
effort.

“The letter states that you were arrested and
convicted under the name of Harcliffe; that when
active search for you was finally abandoned you
went with my mother to Chicago, and there began
a new life under your right name of Burthon; that
there your sister met and married my father, although
you opposed the match bitterly, fearing
she would betray your secret to her husband. But
she never did.”

“It is not true,” he repeated. “The whole
story is but a tissue of lies.”

“Then,” said Sybil, “I will telegraph to the police
of Baltimore that the escaped prisoner, Harcliffe,
whom they have been seeking these twenty
years, is here in Los Angeles, and ask them to send
at once someone to identify him. You need not
be afraid, for the story is false. They will come,
I will point you out to them, and they will declare
you are not the man. Then I will believe you—not
before.”

He sat a long time, his head upon his hand, looking
at her reflectively. At the same time her dark
eyes were fixed upon him with equal intentness.

171By and by she laughed aloud, but there was no
mirth in the sound.

“Not that, dear uncle,” she said, as if he had
spoken. “Am I not my mother’s daughter, and
my clever uncle’s own niece? You cannot quiet me
by murder, for in that case my revenge is fully
provided for. I know you, and I did not venture
upon this disagreeable errand unprepared. There
is a plain clothes man at the street door, who, if I
do not emerge from this club in—” she looked at
her watch—“in fifteen minutes, will summon
assistance, guard every exit, and then search your
rooms for my body. The doorkeeper has my name
and knows that I am here. Therefore, to injure
me now would be to thrust your head into the
hangman’s noose. Afterward you will be very
considerate of my welfare, for from this day any
harm that befalls me will lead to your prompt arrest
and the disclosure of your secret.”

He threw out his hands with a despairing, helpless
gesture.

“What a demon you are!” he cried.

“I believe I am,” said Sybil, slowly. “I hate
myself for being obliged to act in this dramatic
fashion—to threaten and bully like a coward—but
being blessed with so unscrupulous an uncle I cannot
accomplish my purpose in a more dignified
way.”

172“State your demands, then,” said he.

“I have stated them.”

“To withdraw my aëroplane from the aviation
meet would mean my ruin. I have sold my real
estate and brokerage business and invested my
money in aviation; I positively cannot withdraw
now.”

“You must. To whine of ruin is absurd. I
know that my father paid you a quarter of a million
for your mine. You also obtained, without
doubt, a good sum for your business. So far you
cannot have invested more than a few thousand
dollars in your attempt to steal Stephen Kane’s
invention. My advice, sir, is to get away from
here as soon as you can. Go to London or Paris,
where there is more interest in aviation than here,
and make a business of flying, if you will. But
the Kane device is fully protected by foreign patents,
and any infringement will be promptly
prosecuted.”

“You are merciless,” he complained.

“You will find me so.”

“I am a member of the Aëro Club. I cannot,
without arousing suspicion, withdraw my aëroplane
from the meet.”

“If you do not I will telegraph to Baltimore.”

The threat seemed to crush him and still any
further remonstrances.

173“Very well,” he returned; “if you have finished
your errand please leave me. I must—consider—my—position.”

She rose, cast one scornful glance at him and
walked out of the room, leaving him seated with
bowed head, dejected and utterly defeated.

There lived in Los Angeles at that time one of
those unaccountable individuals whom nature, in
fashioning, endows with such contradictory qualities
that their fellow creatures are unable to judge
them correctly.

He was a young man, fresh from college, whose
name was engraved upon his cards as H. Chesterton
Radley-Todd, but whom his new acquaintances
promptly dubbed “Chesty Todd.” Having finished
his collegiate course he had been at a loss
what to do next, so he drifted to the Pacific coast
and presently connected himself with the Los Angeles
Tribune as literary critic, society reporter
and general penistic roustabout.

Mr. Radley-Todd had a round, baby face; expressionless
and therefore innocent blue eyes that
bulged a little; charmingly perfect teeth; an awkward
demeanor; a stumbling, hesitating mode of
speech and the intellectual acumen of a Disraeli.
He was six feet and three inches tall and dressed
like a dandy. People estimated him as a mollycoddle
175at first acquaintance; wondered presently
if he possessed hidden talents, and finally gave him
up as a problem not worth solving. No one believed
in his ability, even when he demonstrated it;
because, as they truly said, he “did not look as if
he amounted to shucks.”

That such a callow youth, predoomed to adverse
judgment, should be able to secure a position on a
daily paper seemed remarkable. But the Tribune
loves to employ green and budding “talent,”
which can be had at a nominal salary. The managing
editor shrewdly contends that these young
fellows work with an enthusiasm and perseverance
unknown to older and more experienced journalists,
because they have a notion that the world is
their oyster and a newspaper job the knife that
opens it. When they discover their mistake they
are dismissed and other ambitious ones take their
places. Mr. H. Chesterton Radley-Todd was at
present enjoying this fleeting prominence, and occasionally
the editor would read his copy with genuine
amazement and wonder from what source he
had stolen its brilliance and power.

So, when the great aviation meet approached
and every man, woman and child in Southern California
was eager for details concerning it and demanded
pages of description of the various participating
aëroplanes and aviators, in advance of
176their exhibition, and when Tom Dunbar, the
Tribune’s expert on aviation, was suddenly
stricken with pneumonia, “Chesty” Todd was assigned
to this important department.

“Dig for every scrap of information that can
possibly be unearthed,” said the editor to him.
“Spread it out as much as you can, for the dear
public wants a cyclone of aërial gossip and will devour
every word of it. When there isn’t any
broth don’t fear to manufacture some; any ‘mistake’
in the preliminaries will be forgotten as soon
as the big meet is in full swing.”

Chesty nodded; stumbled against a chair on his
way out; stepped on the toe of the private stenographer
and slammed the door to muffle her scream.
Then he made his way to Dominguez Field;
strolled among the hangars with his hands in his
pockets and imbibed unimportant information by
the column.

Two things, however, really interested the reporter.
One was the popular interest in the Kane
Aircraft, which was now in its hangar and invited
inspection. Wilson and Brewster, the latter now
openly in the employ of Mr. Cumberford, guarded
the local aëroplane and explained its unique features
to an eager throng. For, although the Kane
hangar was in a retired location—“around the corner,”
in fact—a bigger crowd besieged it, on this
177last day preceding the official opening of the meet,
than visited the older and better known devices.
Stephen Kane’s remarkable flight at Kane Park,
which was followed by his peculiar accident, was of
course responsible for much of the interest manifested
in his machine; and this interest was shared
by the experienced aviators present, who silently
examined the novel improvements of the young inventor
and forbore to discuss them or their alleged
merits.

“What do you think of it?” Chesty Todd asked
an aviator of national prominence.

“Looks good,” was the evasive reply. “Cumberford,
who is managing the Kane campaign, has
been trying hard to get a man to fly it, but so far
without success. Pity the thing can’t be exhibited.
Young Kane, who was entered as the aviator,
broke his leg and is now out of it.”

The reporter made a mental note of this; he
would find out the plans of the Kane party and
make a two column story of their hope or despair.

Later in the afternoon another thing puzzled
him. Burthon, the direct competitor of Kane,
suddenly and without explanation withdrew his
aëroplane from the meet and actually took it from
the field, closing his hangar. The officials and
others interested were amazed, and the action
aroused considerable comment.

178Chesty Todd scented a story. He secured an
automobile and followed Burthon and Tot Tyler
at a distance, until they placed the aëroplane in the
old workshop at South Pasadena. He crept up
to the shed unobserved and found half a dozen men
busily putting the parts together again and preparing
the device for use. Why, since it had been
withdrawn from the aviation meet?

Todd and Burthon walked out and went to a
near by restaurant, where the reporter found
them seated in a corner engaged in earnest conversation.
Chesty made signs to the waiter that
he was deaf and dumb, secured a seat at a table
within hearing distance of Burthon and his chauffeur,
and overheard enough to give him a clew to
their latest conspiracy. Then he went away, regained
his automobile and drove straight to the
Alexandria Hotel.

Mr. Cumberford had insisted on the Kanes taking
rooms at the hotel during the meet, and all
three were now established there, Mrs. Kane having
decided to go each day to Dominguez, where
Stephen and Sybil could tell her of the events as
they occurred. In a way the blind woman would
thus be able to participate and avoid the anxiety
and suspense of remaining at the bungalow while
her daughter undertook the hazardous feat of
operating Stephen’s aëroplane. The Cumberford
179automobile was placed at the disposal of mother
and son, and the young inventor could watch the
flight of his machine while propped among the
cushions, Sybil being at his side to attend him and
his mother.

The party had just finished dinner and assembled
in the Cumberford sitting room when Chesty
Todd’s card was brought in. It was marked
“Tribune” and Mr. Cumberford decided to go
down to the office and see the reporter, as it was
not his purpose to snub the press at this critical
juncture. However, the young man discouraged
him at first sight. His appearance was, as usual,
against him.

“Will the Kane Aircraft take part in the contests?”
he inquired.

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Cumberford.

“You have secured a man to—er—run the
thing?”

“We have secured an operator.”

Chesty stared at him, his comprehensive mind
alert. Why did Cumberford turn his reply to
evade the “man” proposition? Could a woman
operate an aëroplane? Perhaps none but an inexperienced
youth would have dreamed of the
possibility.

“Has Stephen Kane any family?” he cautiously
asked.

180“A mother and sister. He is unmarried.”

“How old is the sister?”

“Seventeen.”

“Oh!” The age seemed to eliminate her. “And
the mother?”

It was Cumberford’s turn to stare.

“The mother is blind,” he said.

Mr. Radley-Todd’s thoughts took another turn.

“Have you a family, sir?”

“I have a daughter, an only child. Mrs. Cumberford
is not living.”

“And your daughter’s age, sir?”

“Seventeen. She is the same age as Orissa
Kane.”

“Are the young ladies—er—interested in
airships?”

Mr. Cumberford did not like these questions.
He knew that a reporter is akin to a detective, and
began to fear the youth was on the track of their
secret. So he answered rather stiffly:

“Fairly so. Everyone seems interested in aviation
these days. It interests me.”

Chesty saw he would not confess; so he tried
another tack.

“Mr. Burthon is your brother-in-law, I believe.”

Mr. Cumberford nodded.

“You are—eh—enemies?”

“Mr. Radley-Todd, or whatever your name is,”
181angrily glancing at the card, “I do not object to
being interviewed on the subject of the Kane Aircraft,
or the coming aviation meet. But your
questions are becoming personal and are wide of
the mark. You will please confine yourself to
legitimate topics.”

The young man rose and bowed.

“Excuse me,” he said in his halting way; “a
reporter is often forced to appear impertinent
when he does not intend to be so. At present I
am—er—face to face with a curious—er—complication.
I have discovered—eh—unintentionally—that
your er, er—aviator will be in great danger
to-morrow. If it’s a man, I don’t care. I don’t
like you, Mr. Cumberford, and I wouldn’t lift a
finger to save the Kane Aircraft from going to
pot. Why should I—eh? It’s nothing to me. But
if one of those girls—your daughter or Kane’s
sister, is to fly the thing, I feel it my—er—duty
to say: look out!”

He started to go, but Cumberford grabbed his
arm.

“What do you mean?” he demanded sternly.

“Is it a girl?”

“You won’t betray us? You won’t publish it?”

“Not at present.”

“Orissa Kane will operate the aircraft.”

Chesty looked at his boots reflectively.

182“Don’t let her undertake it, sir,” he said. “If
you can’t find a man, follow Burthon’s example
and withdraw your—eh—airship from the meet.
Better withdraw it, anyhow—that’s the best move—if
you don’t wish to court disaster.”

“Explain yourself, sir!”

“I won’t. I’m not going to spoil a good story
for my paper—and a scoop in the bargain—to
satisfy your curiosity. But Miss Kane—May I
see her a moment?”

Mr. Cumberford reflected.

“If you warn her of danger you will take away
her nerve. She’s the only person on earth competent
to operate the Kane Aircraft, and to withdraw
the aëroplane would mean the ruin of her
brother’s fortune and ambitions.”

“I don’t know her brother; I don’t care a fig
for him. If I see the girl I shall warn her,” said
the reporter.

“Then you shall not see her.”

“Very good. But you will tell her to look out?”

“What for?”

“For danger.”

“When?”

“At all times; especially during her flight.”

“There is always danger of accident, of course.”

“This won’t be an accident—if it happens,”
said Chesty Todd, decidedly.

183“But who would wish to injure Orissa?” asked
Cumberford, wonderingly.

“Think it over,” said the reporter. “If
you’ve one deadly enemy—a person who will stick
at nothing, being desperate—that’s the man.”

With this he coolly walked away, leaving Mr.
Cumberford considerably disturbed. But he
thought it over and decided to say nothing to
Orissa. The warning might refer to Burthon, who
was the only person they might expect trouble
from, although to Cumberford’s astonishment
Burthon had quit the field at the last moment
and abandoned the contest. Knowing nothing of
Sybil’s interview with her uncle, that action
seemed to indicate, to Cumberford’s mind, that
Burthon had weakened.

Under no circumstances would he have permitted
Orissa to face an unknown danger, but it
occurred to him, after thinking over the interview,
that Mr. H. Chesterton Radley-Todd was a fair
example of a fool.

The morning of the first day of the long heralded
aviation meet dawned bright and sunny, as only
a Southern California January morning can. By
seven o’clock vast throngs were hurrying southward
to Dominguez—a broad plain midway between
Los Angeles and the ocean—where much
important aviation history has been made.

By nine o’clock the grand stand was packed and
“automobile row” occupied by hundreds of motor
cars, filled with ladies in gay apparel, their escorts
and imperturbable chauffeurs. The crowd was
beginning to circle the vast field, too, and nearly
every face bore an excited, eager expression.

The events scheduled might well arouse the interest
of a people just awakened to the possibilities
of aërial navigation. Important prizes had
been offered by wealthy men and corporations for
the most daring flights of the meet. Ten thousand
dollars would go to the aviator showing the most
skillful and adroit handling of an aëroplane; five
thousand for the longest flight; another five thousand
185for an endurance test and a like sum to the
one attaining the greatest height. In addition to
these generous purses, two thousand dollars would
be given for the best starting and alighting device
exhibited and two thousand for the best safety device.
For speed several huge purses were donated,
and altogether the aviators present would
compete for more than fifty thousand dollars in
gold, besides various medals and cups and the
priceless prestige gained by excelling in a competition
where the most successful and famed airships
and aviators of the world congregated.

Therefore, it is little wonder public interest was
excited and every aviator determined to do his
best. Many thronged the hangars, asking innumerable
questions of the good-natured attendants,
who recognized the popular ignorance of
modern flying devices and were tolerant and communicative
to a degree.

The morning events were of minor importance,
although several clever exhibitions of flying were
given. But at two o’clock the competition for
skillful handling of an aëroplane in midair was
scheduled, and at that time the appetite of each
spectator was whetted for the great spectacle.

The day seemed ideal for aviation; the sky was
flecked with fleecy clouds and scarcely a breath of
air could be felt at the earth’s surface.

186Now came the first appearance of the Kane Aircraft.
It had not been brought from the hangar
during the forenoon and, in watching such celebrated
aëroplanes as the Bleriot, Farman, Antoinette,
Curtiss and Wright, manned by the greatest
living aëronauts, those assembled had almost forgotten
that a local inventor was to enter the lists
with them. The secretary of the Aëro Club and
others interested had expected Mr. Burthon to
protest against allowing the Kane device to be
operated, on the ground that Kane was entered to
operate it and was unable to do so; but for some
unaccountable reason Burthon remained silent,
not even appearing at the field, and Mr. Cumberford’s
explanation that the “Kane” in this instance
meant the young man’s sister, satisfied the
officials perfectly. Naturally they were surprised
and even startled at the idea of a girl taking part
in the great aviation meet, but hailed the innovation
with keenest interest.

Suddenly, while the field was clear and half a
dozen aëroplanes hovered in the air above it, the
Kane Aircraft rolled into the open space, circled
before the grand stand and then, gracefully and
without effort, mounted into the air.

Those who had witnessed Stephen’s prior performance
were not astonished at this unassisted
rise from earth to air, but all were delighted by
187the grace and beauty of the ascent and a roar of
applause burst spontaneously from the crowd.
The peculiar construction of the aircraft so diverted
attention from its aviator that few marked
the slender form of Orissa, or knew that a girl
was making this daring flight.

There were some, however, whose eyes were
eagerly rivetted on the indistinct figure of the flying
girl and utterly disregarded the machine.
Stephen, comfortably propped among the cushions
of the motor car with his mother seated behind him
and Sybil opposite, divided his attention between
his sister and his creation. Mr. Cumberford,
knowing what the machine would do, watched Orissa
through a powerful glass and decided from
the first that she was cool and capable. Chesty
Todd also watched the girlish figure, with a more
intense interest than he had ever before displayed
during his brief and uneventful lifetime.

The reporter had been worried lest Mr. Cumberford
neglect to warn the girlish operator of the
Kane Aircraft of danger; so he pushed through
the crowd about the hangar and just as Orissa
passed the doorway, seated in her aëroplane, he
said in a low voice: “Look out—for a collision!”

She started and cast an inquiring look at him,
but there was no time to reply. The machine had
been drawn by the assistants to a clear space and
188she must devote her attention to her work. As
she threw in the lever Mr. Cumberford, who stood
beside the aircraft, hurriedly whispered: “Be
careful, Orissa—look out for danger!” Then she
was off, facing the thousands on the field, with
nerve and brain resolutely bent upon the task she
had undertaken.

It was no indifferent thing this brave girl attempted.
Until now her acquaintance with an
aëroplane had been wholly theoretical; it was her
first flight; yet so thoroughly did she understand
every part of her air vehicle—what it was for and
how to use it—that she had implicit confidence in
herself and in her machine. Naturally level-headed,
alert and quick to think and to act, Orissa
was no more afraid of soaring in the air than of
riding in an automobile. Aside from her desire
to operate the aircraft so skillfully that her
brother’s invention would be fully appreciated she
was determined to attempt the winning of the ten
thousand dollar prize, which would establish the
Kane fortunes on a secure basis. Enough for one
untried, seventeen-year-old girl to think of, was
it not? And small wonder that she absolutely
forgot the impressive warnings she had received.

The air is a mighty thoroughfare, free and untrammeled.
The little group of aëroplanes operating
over Dominguez—darting here and there,
189up and down—had little chance of colliding, for
there was space enough and to spare. Orissa knew
all about air currents and their peculiarities and
she also knew that her greatest safety lay in high
altitudes. With a feeling of rapturous exhilaration
she began to realize her control of the craft
and her dominance of the air. A masterful desire
crept over her to accomplish great deeds in
aviation.

Those who were watching from below—judges,
friends and spectators—saw her steadily mounting,
higher and higher, until she seemed to fade
out of sight like the figure in a moving picture,
with nothing but a little iron-and-wood skeleton
and the chugging of a tiny engine to ward off
death. Then she came into sight again, a little
smudge of grayish white against the shifting
clouds. To see her up there, a mere speck dodging
among the storm clouds, reminded the observers,
as nothing in aviation has ever done before, of the
awful audacity of man in building these mechanical
birds. As they watched they found themselves
hoping—as a child might—that in some way the
brave little speck would manage to escape those
gigantic sky monsters. Then one seized the aircraft,
and just as the sun caught and flung back to
earth a flash from one of the busy propeller-blades
a huge cloud swallowed up machine and aviator
and they vanished like mist.

190It was odd how the terror of the spectators increased
at this sudden disappearance; they knew
that somewhere in that awesome, infinite firmament
a frail thing made by the hand of man was
battling with nature’s most mysterious forces for
supremacy. And man won. In less than a minute
there was another flash of sunlight and the
little gray speck emerged saucily from behind the
cloud and made a dive for another.

Then the speck in the sky began to grow larger,
and Orissa attempted an amazing dive earthward
that caused the throng to fall silent, motionless,
gazing with bated breaths and startled eyes at the
thrilling scene. It was a long swoop out of space
and into being; a series of dives half a mile long
and each nearly straight down.

The girl glided earthward until the aircraft
nearly touched the ground; then she adroitly tilted
it up again and tore away around the course in
great circles, while the spectators, roused to life,
thundered their applause.

Her control of the aëroplane was really wonderful.
Again, encouraged by her success, she
shot up into the air, rising to the height of half a
mile and then performing the hazardous evolution
known to aviators as the “spiral dip.” She began
by circling widely, at an even elevation, and
then dipping the nose of the aircraft and narrowing
191the circles as she plunged swiftly downward
with constantly accelerating speed. It was a bewildering
and hair-raising performance, and no
one but Walter Brookins had ever before undertaken
it.

A dozen feet from the ground Orissa reined in
her Pegasus and glided over the group of hangars
on her inclined ascent—the third she had made
without alighting. There were other aëroplanes
doing interesting “stunts,” and each aviator
seemed to be exercising his ingenuity to excel all
others, yet the eyes of the crowd followed the Kane
Aircraft with an absorbed fascination that relegated
other contestants to the rear.

“What is she doing now?” asked Mrs. Kane,
anxiously.

“Soaring in the air about half a mile high and
a half mile to the northward,” replied Steve.

“And performing wonders,” added Sybil, with
enthusiasm. “I had no idea the aircraft could be
controlled so perfectly.”

“Nor I,” admitted the young inventor, modestly.
“It really seems like a thing of life under
her management, and I am sure I could not have
exhibited its good points half as well as little Ris
is doing.”

“Are any other aëroplanes flying?” Mrs. Kane
inquired.

“Oh, yes,” said Sybil. “There are several in
the air, doing really marvelous things; but all
seem to keep away from Orissa and are more to
the south of us. There’s one, though!” she added
suddenly. “Isn’t that an aëroplane coming from
the far north, Steve?”

193He looked carefully through the field glasses he
held.

“Why—yes! It surely is an aëroplane. But
how did it get over there?” he exclaimed. “I’ve
been watching the other contestants, and they’re
all near by. Who can it be?”

Sybil had glasses, too, and she focussed them on
the approaching airship.

“It looks very much like Uncle Burthon’s imitation
of the aircraft,” she murmured.

“By Jove! That’s what it is!” cried Steve.
“How dare he fly it, after it has been withdrawn?”

“Uncle Burthon will dare anything,” she retorted,
coldly. “But he is making the mistake of
his life to-day—if that is really his aëroplane.”

“Why, he’s driving straight toward Orissa,”
said Steve, indignantly. “What is the fellow trying
to do—bump the aircraft?”

Sybil laid a warning hand on his arm and
glanced into the blind woman’s startled face.

“Orissa is all right,” she announced in calm
tones.

But Orissa did not seem all right to Steve, who
was growing excessively nervous; nor even to
Sybil, whose face was stern and set as she watched
the maneuvers of the two craft through her
powerful glasses.

194“It’s Tyler,” she said softly, meaning that the
little chauffeur was operating Burthon’s device.
Steve nodded, and thereafter they were silent.

Swift as a dart the Burthon aëroplane approached
Orissa, who was deliberately circling
this way and that as she glided through the air.
She saw it coming, but at first paid little heed,
thinking Tyler intended to pass by. But he altered
his course to keep his machine headed
directly for her and in gravely examining the
approaching craft the girl noticed two slender
steel blades projecting from his front elevator,
like extended sword blades. They were slightly
upcurved at the points, and while Orissa marveled
to see such things attached to an aëroplane the
thought occurred to her that if those blades struck
her planes they would rend the cloth to shreds and
destroy their sustaining surfaces. In that case
one result was inevitable—a sudden drop to earth,
and death.

Even as this thought crossed her mind the
Burthon aëroplane came driving toward her at
full speed. Filled with dismay she could only
stare helplessly until the thing was so near that
she could distinctly see the scowling face and
glaring eyes of Tyler, intent on mischief. Then,
without realizing her action, she caused the aircraft
to duck, and the other swept over her so
195closely that Tyler’s running gear almost scraped
her planes.

Orissa’s machine rolled alarmingly a moment,
but she quickly regained control and then looked
to see where Tyler was. He had turned and again
was swooping toward her, at a slight downward
angle. Orissa ascended to escape him, now realizing
the man’s wicked determination to destroy
the aircraft, and Tyler, displaying unexpected
skill, altered his course to follow her.

The girl, thoroughly alarmed, now turned to
flee, scarcely realizing what she did. Tyler followed
like some huge bird of prey and, curiously
enough, gained upon the Kane Aircraft. The two
sets of engines were chugging away steadily, all
the propellers revolving like clockwork, while the
two rival aëroplanes answered obediently the
slightest movements of their rudders.

Finding a straight flight would not permit her
to escape her enemy, the girl swerved and began
circling widely. After her came Tyler, the wicked
looking blades that protruded from his elevator
gleaming menacingly in the sunlight, his features
distorted by hate and murderously determined.

In the circles Orissa seemed able to keep her
distance, but the poor child was so bewildered by
this pitiless attack that her head was in a whirl
and only by instinct could she handle the levers
and wheel to guide her flight.

196Tyler now observed several aëroplanes approaching
at full speed, and realized he must end
the chase quickly or be driven from his prey and
prevented from carrying out his diabolical design.
He made a quick turn to head off Orissa’s circle
and the dreadful blades almost touched her lower
plane as she dodged them. Tyler swept round
again, but in his eagerness forgot his balance.
Perhaps the man relied too much on the automatic
device that had once brought Stephen to grief;
anyway his aëroplane developed a side motion
that nearly shook him from his seat. He tried in
vain to restore the balance. The jar caused the
motors to slip; the engines stopped dead; with a
rending sound the huge planes collapsed and the
wreck of Burthon’s biplane began to sink downward.
Tyler was pitched headlong from his seat,
but caught a rail and clung to it desperately as
with ever increasing speed the fall to earth
continued.

The Rescue.

197Orissa had witnessed the accident and with the
sudden transition from danger to safety the girl’s
wits returned and she regained her coolness. As
she saw Tyler falling to his death, a quick conception
of the situation inspired her to action. The
Kane Aircraft suddenly tipped and began one of
those tremendous dives through space which it
had accomplished earlier in the day. Orissa’s
aëroplane was absolutely under control, even at
this thrilling moment, while the wreck to which
Tyler clung was somewhat restrained in its fall
by the mass of fluttering canvas and splintered
bows. Although the weight of its engines and
tanks dragged it swiftly down, Orissa’s aircraft
dove much more rapidly. Five hundred feet
above the earth she overtook Tyler, guided her
aëroplane dangerously close to the man, and cried
out to him to seize it. He may not have heard or
understood her, but an instinct of self-preservation
such as leads a drowning man to grasp at a
straw induced him to clutch her footrail, and at
the same moment Orissa turned the machine, so
as not to become entangled in the wreck, and began
a more gradual descent, the little chauffeur
dangling from her footrail while, alert and masterful,
the girl controlled her overladen craft.

Down, down they came, and thirty thousand
pair of startled, wondering eyes followed them as
if entranced. Orissa had not looked to see where
she would land, for until this moment she had been
so thoroughly occupied with the chase and the
rescue of her enemy that she never once glanced
toward the ground. But the hand of fate was
guiding our brave young aviator. Her aircraft,
maintaining a safe angle, settled directly upon
Dominguez Field, where Tyler released his hold
198and rolled unconscious upon the ground. Orissa’s
machine sped forward on its running gear and
came to a stop just before the crowded grand
stand.

No one who witnessed that exciting event will
ever forget the mad shouts that rent the air when
the Kane Aircraft, safe from its battle in the
clouds, came to rest just in front of the gasping
throng that had watched it with a fascination akin
to horror. A hundred eager onlookers surrounded
the machine, plucked the aviator from her
seat and held her aloft for all to see, while the
discovery that a young girl was the heroine of the
terrible adventure caused them to marvel anew.

The applause redoubled; men shouted until they
were hoarse; women wept, laughed hysterically
and waved their handkerchiefs; everyone stood
up to applaud; thousands crowded the field about
Orissa, who by this time was herself softly crying,
until Stephen, white as a ghost, directed his man
to run the motor car through the crowd to his
sister’s side and assist her aboard.

Mr. Cumberford took no part in this ovation.
He was rushing about the field, flinging everyone
out of his way with mad excitement and asking
continually: “Where is he? Where is Tyler?
What has become of him?”

No one heeded him for a time, as every eye was
199on Orissa, every individual striving to get near
her, to touch her—as if she had been a goddess
whose hand could confer untold blessings and
remedy the ills of the world. But after a while
Cumberford found a man who deigned to give him
the desired information.

“The fellow who was rescued?” he said. “Oh,
he fainted dead away the minute he touched solid
ground.”

“And what became of him?” demanded
Cumberford.

“Why, the crowd wanted to mob him, it seemed,
and I guess that faint was the only thing that
saved him from being torn to pieces.”

“Well—well! What then?”

“Then a tall young fellow grabbed him up,
chucked him into an automobile and got away
with him.”

“Where?”

“How the blazes do I know, stranger? I only
saw them get away, that’s all.”

This information was later confirmed by several
others, but Orissa’s manager was unable to
learn who had taken Tyler away or where they
had gone. Cumberford was in an ugly mood, his
heart throbbing with a fierce desire for vengeance.
Tyler had escaped him for the moment but he
vowed he would never rest until both Burthon and
his chauffeur were behind the bars.

200He was still pursuing his futile inquiries when
Brewster approached him and said his daughter,
with Stephen, Orissa and their mother, awaited
him at the hangar, which was besieged by an excited
throng. Directing the man to look after the
aircraft and get it safely housed, he hurried away
and managed to squeeze through the mass of
humanity surrounding the hangar and gain
admittance.

Within he found Orissa the center of a group of
aviators who were earnestly congratulating the
girl on her escape and flooding her with compliments
and praise for her skillful handling of the
aëroplane. They were noble fellows, these professional
aviators, and unselfish enough to be
honestly enthusiastic over Miss Kane’s performances.
The girl’s beauty and modesty won them
at once, and adding these charming qualities to
her cleverness and bravery, to-day fully proven,
it is not difficult to understand why Orissa Kane
from this moment became a prime favorite with
every disciple of aviation.

Just now, however, Orissa was embarrassed
and a little distressed by all this laudation, following
the spirited ovation tendered her by the
public at large, so her nerves were beginning to
fail her when by good fortune Mr. Cumberford
appeared. He saw at once her condition and without
201stopping to add a word of praise or congratulation
managed to hurry her out of the back entrance,
past the surging crowd that was even here
in evidence, and into their automobile. The others
of the party followed with less difficulty and soon
they were all headed for town and speeding
swiftly along the roadway.

As soon as Sybil reached her room at the hotel
she wrote a line to her uncle, Mr. Burthon, which
said: “I have wired to Baltimore.” Summoning
a messenger she instructed him to search for Mr.
Burthon until he found him and then place the
message in his hands. She delayed sending the
telegram just then, but was so angry and indignant
that she was fully resolved to do so during
the evening.

Meantime Orissa, who to an extent had recovered
from her excitement, was being petted by
the family party in the sitting room that had been
reserved for them. Poor Mrs. Kane, having
hugged and kissed her child and wept over her
terrible danger and miraculous escape, now held
the girl’s hand fast in her own and could not bear
to let it go. Stephen was full of eager praise and,
ignoring for the time the final incident of the
flight, led Orissa to talk of her aërial exhibition
and the admirable behavior of the aircraft, together
203with its perfect adjustment and obedience
under all conditions.

“You’ve won the prize, dear,” he asserted confidently.
“No one else did half as much or did it
as well, to say nothing of your skillful dodging of
that scoundrel Tyler. But I can’t let you make
another flight, little sister. You are too precious
to us all for us to let you risk your life in this way.
The aircraft will have to stand by its record for
that one flight—at least for this meet.”

“Oh, no,” protested Orissa; “I’ll go again to-morrow,
Steve. I want to. The sensation is glorious,
and I’m sure that monster, Tyler—or his
master, Burthon—will be unable to get another
aëroplane to chase me. I shall be perfectly safe,
for your aircraft was from first to last like a thing
with life and intelligence. I understand it, and it
understands me.”

“I wonder if Burthon really sent Tyler on that
murderous errand,” said Steve, thoughtfully.

“Of course he did!” declared Mr. Cumberford,
entering the room in time to hear the remark.
“Here’s a letter for you, Orissa, just left at
the office, and I’m pretty sure it’s Burthon’s
handwriting.”

Orissa took the letter, opened it, and read aloud:

“Do not, I beg of you, my dear Orissa,
accuse me of inciting that fool Tyler’s mad
204attack upon your aëroplane. The man
stole the machine from its hangar and,
crazed by my withdrawal from the meet,
which deprived him of the chance of becoming
famous, and inspired by anger
toward Cumberford, who had at one time
maliciously assaulted him and whom he
thought responsible for my withdrawal,
he made a desperate attempt to wreck
your aëroplane without knowing who was
operating it. As soon as I found my machine
gone I hurried to Dominguez and
arrived in time to see the terrible result of
Tyler’s madness and your noble rescue of
him. I am leaving the city to-night and
may never see your sweet face again, but
I do not wish you to misjudge me and
have, therefore, made this explanation,
which is honest and sincere. I trust you
will remember me only as a true and loyal
friend who would willingly sacrifice his
unhappy life to save you from harm. Now
and always faithfully yours,

During the reading Sybil had entered and
quietly seated herself, listening with lip scornfully
curled to her uncle’s protestations of innocence.
For a moment after Orissa finished the
letter all were silent. Then said Orissa, gently:

205“I’m so glad Mr. Burthon had no hand in it!”

“Bah!” sneered Cumberford; “Burthon is a
liar. I don’t believe a word of his lame excuse.”

“Nor I,” added Stephen, gravely. “Tyler is a
hired assassin, that’s all. I think Burthon is
frightened, and wishes to throw us off the track
and put the blame on his tool, before running
away.”

“I hope that is a lie, too—about his running
away,” said Mr. Cumberford. “If Burthon escapes
scot-free I shall be greatly disappointed.
But the fellow is so tricky that if he says he is
going you may rest assured he means to stay.”

“I think not, Daddy,” remarked Sybil, in her
cold, even tones. “My uncle is in earnest this
time and I doubt if you ever see or hear of George
Burthon again.”

A knock at the door startled the little group.
Mr. Cumberford stepped forward and opened it
to find a tall, blue-eyed young man standing in
the hall. He recognized Mr. Radley-Todd—the
Tribune reporter—at once, and said stiffly:

“You are intruding, sir. I left word at the
office that Miss Kane and I would see the newspaper
men at eight o’clock, but not before.”

He started to close the door, but Chesty Todd
inserted one long leg into the opening, smiling
pleasantly as he said:

206“This isn’t a newspaper errand; let me in.”

Mr. Cumberford let him in, throwing wide the
door, for there was an earnest ring in the young
fellow’s voice that could not be denied.

After Chesty Todd had entered, stumbling over
the rug and bowing low to the ladies, another
form shuffled silently through the doorway in his
wake—a little, dried-up, withered man with
tousled hair, his cap under his arm, a woebegone
and hopeless expression on his leathery face.

“Tyler!” cried a surprised chorus.

The ex-chauffeur did not acknowledge the greeting.
Chesty, extending one arm toward the man
as if he were exhibiting a trained animal, said
sternly:

“Down on your knees!”

Tyler bumped his kneecaps upon the floor in an
attitude of meek humiliation.

“Now, then!”

“M-m-m—pardon,” gurgled the little chauffeur,
not with contrition but rather as an enforced
plea for mercy.

Chesty kicked his shins.

“Get up,” he commanded.

Tyler slowly rose, surveyed the group stealthily
from beneath his brows and then dropped his
eyes again, standing with bowed shoulders before
them and nervously twirling his cap in his hands.

207“Here,” announced Chesty, pointing impressively
to the culprit, “stands the murderous
ruffian known to infamy as Totham Tyler. He is
at your mercy, prepared to endure any amount of
torture or to die ignominiously at the hands of
those he has wronged.”

All but Mrs. Kane were staring in amazement
first at Tyler, then at his captor. Said Stephen to
the latter, curiously:

“You are a detective, I suppose!”

“Merely as a side line,” was the cheerful rejoinder.
“Primarily I’m a newspaper reporter,
and whenever I strike for a higher salary they tell
me I’m a mighty poor journalist. Let me introduce
myself. My name is Havely Chesterton
Radley-Todd, quite a burden to carry but it all
belongs to me. This is my first experience as an
imitator of the late lamented Sherlock Holmes,
and I may point with pride to the fact that I’ve
unraveled the supposed plot to murder Miss
Orissa Kane.”

Tyler growled incoherently.

“True,” said Chesty, looking at the man
thoughtfully; “the plot was not to murder Miss
Kane, but Mr. Cumberford, whom his loving
brother-in-law supposed would operate the Kane
aeroplane. Incidentally it was planned to so
wreck the aircraft—is that what you call it?—that
208it would be out of commission during the rest
of the meet.”

“Why?” asked Stephen.

“To satisfy his petty malice. If Burthon
couldn’t fly he didn’t want you to fly, and he
hoped to obtain revenge for being driven into
exile.”

There was a murmur of surprise at this.

“Who drove Burthon into exile?” asked
Cumberford.

“I did,” said Sybil, indifferently.

“Have you seen him, then?” demanded her
father.

“Oh, yes; but my uncle is unreliable. Before
he obeyed my command to leave this country forever
he decided on a final coup, which has fortunately
failed.”

“Burthon,” announced Chesty Todd, “boarded
an east-bound train an hour ago. I tried to head
him off, but he was too slick and escaped me. That
is the reason I am now here. I want you to listen
to Totham Tyler’s story and then decide whether
to wire ahead and have Burthon arrested or let
the matter drop. It is really up to you, as the
interested parties. So far the police have not had
a hand in the game.”

“Please sit down, Mr. Todd,” requested Orissa,
shyly. In the tall youth she had recognized the
209man who had tried to warn her on Dominguez
Field, and was grateful to him.

Chesty bowed and sat down. Then he turned
to his prisoner and said:

“Fire away, Tyler. Tell the whole story—the
truth and nothing but the truth so help you.”

Tyler opened his mouth with effort, mumbled
and gurgled a moment and then looked at his
captor appealingly.

“Oh; very well. The criminal, ladies and
gentlemen, seems to have lost, in this crisis, the
power of expressing himself. So I shall relate to
you the story, just as I extracted it—by slow and
difficult processes—from the prisoner in my room,
a short time ago. If I make any mistakes he will
correct me.”

Tyler seemed much relieved.

“This creature,” began Chesty, “has previous
to this eventful day been known to mankind as a
good chauffeur and a bad citizen. He was employed
by Burthon as an unscrupulous tool, his
chief recommendation being a deadly hatred of
Mr. Cumberford, who at one time indelicately applied
the toe of his boot to a tender part of Mr.
Tyler’s anatomy. Burthon also hated Cumberford,
for robbing him of a million or so in a mine
deal, and for other things of which I am not informed—or
Tyler, either. Cumberford owns a
210controlling interest in the Kane Aircraft,
and—”

“That’s wrong,” interrupted Stephen.

“I imagine Mr. Tyler’s story is wrong in many
ways,” returned Mr. Radley-Todd, composedly.
“I am merely relating it as I heard it.”

“Go on, sir.”

“Cumberford had also maligned Mr. Burthon
to Miss Orissa Kane, a young lady for whom
Burthon entertained a fatherly interest and a—er—hum—a
platonic affection. Is that right,
Tyler?”

Tyler growled.

“Therefore Burthon decided to get even with
Cumberford, and Tyler agreed to help him. The
first plan was to steal the design of Stephen
Kane’s airship and by cleverly heading him off in
some aëro-political manner put the firm of Cumberford
& Kane out of business. This scheme was
approaching successful fruition when a saucy, impudent
schoolgirl—Tyler’s description, not mine—appeared
on the scene and spiked Mr. Burthon’s
guns. Burthon explained to Tyler that in
bygone days he had saved his sister, Cumberford’s
wife, from going to prison for a crime
Cumberford had urged her to commit, but in doing
this he had been obliged to defy the law, and the
officers are unfortunately still on the generous
211man’s trail. Cumberford’s daughter, knowing the
situation, threatened to have Burthon arrested—to
betray him to the bloodhounds of the cruel law—unless
he withdrew his machine from the aviation
meet and made tracks for pastures new.”

The Kanes were now regarding Sybil with
amazement and her father with suspicion if not
distrust. The girl stared back at them haughtily;
Cumberford shrugged his shoulders and stroked
his drooping, grizzled mustache. Chesty Todd,
observing this pantomime, laughed pleasantly.

“Tyler’s story—told to me—of Burthon’s story—told
to Tyler,” he observed, his eyes twinkling.
“There’s pitch somewhere, and I’ve not been
favorably impressed by Mr. Burthon during
my slight acquaintance with him. I make it a
rule,” speaking more slowly, “to judge people by
their actions; by what they do, rather than by
what people say of them. Judging Burthon by
his actions I should have little confidence in what
he says.”

“You are quite right,” declared Stephen, eagerly.
“I’ll guarantee, if necessary, that Burthon
lied about both Mr. Cumberford and his daughter.
No man ever had a truer friend than Mr. Cumberford
has been to me.”

Cumberford scowled; Sybil gave Steve one of
her rare smiles.

212“Anyhow,” continued the narrator, “Tyler was
in despair because the aëroplane he was booked
to operate was withdrawn from the meet. Burthon
told him if they wanted revenge they must
act quickly. Their sources of information—erroneous,
as the event proved—led them to believe
their enemy Cumberford would fly the rival
aëroplane, and Tyler needed little urging to induce
him to undertake to wreck it. Burthon paid
him a thousand dollars in advance, to make the
attempt, and promised him four thousand more if
he succeeded.”

“Five more,” growled Tyler.

“I stand corrected; but it won’t matter. Tyler
made the attempt, as you know. He had no idea
Miss Kane was in the airship he was trying to
demolish until the last moment, when by a clever
turn he intercepted her aëroplane and was on the
point of running it down. Just then, to his horror
and dismay, he saw the girl plainly and made a
desperate effort to check the speed of his machine—to
avoid running her down. That was the cause
of his mishap, he claims, and his desire to save
Miss Kane nearly cost him his life. While he was
descending a mile or so through the air, clinging
to the footrail, he fiercely repented his wicked
act, so that by the time he struck the ground he
was a reformed criminal, and, for the first time
213since he cut his eye teeth, an honest man. So he
says, and he expects us to believe it.

“I happened to be near the spot where Tyler
rolled and picked him up unconscious—dazed by
his repentance, I suppose. The mob wanted to
disjoint him and remove his skin, which was not
a bad idea; but I decided he could be of more use
to Miss Kane alive—for the present, at least—because
he might untangle some threads of the
mystery. So I threw him into my car, got him to
my room at Mrs. Skipp’s boarding house, restored
him to consciousness, applied the thumbscrews,
got his deposition, lugged him here to you, and
now—please have the kindness to take him off my
hands, for I’m tired of him.”

Orissa laughed, a little nervously. They were
all regarding Chesty with unfeigned admiration
and Tyler with pronounced aversion.

Mrs. Kane was the first to speak. Said the
blind woman, softly:

“Orissa, you alone can judge this man. You
alone can tell whether from the beginning he knew
you were in the aëroplane or whether his claim
is true that he discovered your identity at the last
moment—and tried to save you. If he speaks
truly, if he repented at the moment and risked his
life to save you, it will have a great influence upon
his fate. Speak, my child; you two were together
214in the air a mile above the earth, a mile from any
other human being. Does the man speak truly?”

Orissa paled; suddenly she grew grave and a
frightened look crept into her clear eyes.

Chesty Todd had spoken so lightly, in a serio-comic
vein, and had so belittled the “reformed
villain” and contemptuously made him appear
pitiful and weak, that he had somewhat disarmed
his hearers and led them to forget the seriousness
of the contemplated crime. But Mrs. Kane, listening
intently to the story, found no humor in the
situation, and the blind woman’s gentle remark
promptly recalled to every mind the full horror of
the dastardly attempt.

She was quite right in declaring that Orissa
alone could approve or condemn Tyler’s statement.
If he spoke truly he was entitled to a degree
of mercy at their hands; if, knowing that a
girl was operating the Kane Aircraft, he had still
persisted in his frantic attempt to wreck it and
send her to her death, then no punishment could
be too great for such a cowardly deed.

This was instantly appreciated by all present.
Even Tyler, seeing that his fate hinged on Orissa’s
evidence, ventured to raise his head and cast at
216her an imploring glance. Chesty Todd dropped
his flippant air and earnestly watched the girl’s
face; the others with equal interest awaited her
decisive statement.

As for Orissa, the gravity of the situation awed
her. Recalling the dreadful moments when she
battled in the air for her life she saw before her
the scowling, vicious face of her enemy and remembered
how his eyes had glared wickedly into
her own time and again as he attacked her aëroplane,
determined to destroy it at all hazards.
There was no question in her mind as to the truth
of Tyler’s claim; she knew he had recognized her
and still persisted in his purpose. She knew the
accident to his machine was caused by his own
carelessness and its faulty construction, and not
by any desire of his to arrest its speed. Tyler
had deliberately lied in order to condone his
cowardly act, and she experienced a feeling of
indignation that he should resort to such an
infamous falsehood, knowing as he must that her
evidence would render it impotent.

Orissa contemplated her erstwhile assailant
with reflective deliberation. She noted his miserable
appearance, his abject manner, the moods
of alternate despair and hope that crossed his
withered features. An enemy so contemptible
and mean was scarcely worthy of her vengeance.
217It seemed dreadful that such a despicable creature
had been made in man’s image. Could he possess
a soul, she wondered? Could such an one own a
conscience, or have any perception, however dim,
of the brutal inhumanity of his offense? Being in
man’s image he must have such things. Perhaps
in his nature was still some element of good, dormant
and unrecognized as yet, which might develop
in time and redeem him. To send him to
prison, she reflected, would not be likely to correct
the perversity of such a nature, while generous
treatment and the forbearance of those he had
wronged might tend to awaken in him remorse
and a desire to retrieve his past. Without knowing
it the girl was arguing on the side of the
world’s most expert criminologists, who hold that
to destroy an offender cannot benefit society so
much as to redeem him.

Whether Tyler’s ultimate redemption was probable
or not, Orissa did not care to assume the
responsibility of crushing him in order to avenge
the shameful attempt, made in a moment of
frenzy, to destroy her life. While those assembled
hung breathless upon her words she said
with assumed composure:

“The man knows better than I whether he
speaks the truth. Could one be so utterly vile as
to try to murder a girl who had never injured
218him? I think not. It is more reasonable to suppose
that in his excitement he forgot himself—his
manhood and his sense of justice—and only at the
last moment realized what he was doing. I believe,”
she added, simply, “I shall give him the
credit of the doubt and accept his statement.”

Tyler stared at her as if he could scarcely believe
his senses, while an expression of joy slowly
spread over his haggard face. Radley-Todd gave
Orissa a quiet smile of comprehension and approval.
Cumberford said, musingly: “Ah; this
interests me; indeed it does.” But Stephen exclaimed,
in an impatient tone:

“That does not clear Tyler of his attempt to
murder Mr. Cumberford and destroy the aircraft.
He admits that such was his design and that Burthon
paid him to do it. He is not less a criminal
because Orissa happened to be in the aëroplane.
Therefore it is Mr. Cumberford’s duty to prosecute
this scoundrel and put him in prison.”

Tyler cast a frightened look at the speaker and
began to tremble again. Said Chesty Todd, leaning
back in his chair with his hands thrust into
his pockets:

“That’s the idea. The prisoner belongs to Mr.
Cumberford.”

Cumberford sat in his characteristic attitude,
stooping forward and thoughtfully stroking his
grizzled mustache.

219“Did I hurt you very much when I kicked you,
Tyler?” he meekly asked.

“No, sir!” protested the man, eagerly.

“Would you have thought of such a revenge
had not Burthon suggested it, and paid you to
carry it out?”

“No, sir!”

“M—m. Would you like to murder me now?”

“No, sir!”

“What will you do if I set you at liberty?”

“Clear out, sir,” said Tyler earnestly.

“Ah; that interests me,” declared Mr.
Cumberford.

“It doesn’t interest me, though,” Stephen said
angrily. “The brute tried to wreck my aircraft.”

“But he failed,” suggested Mr. Cumberford.
“The aircraft is still in apple-pie order.”

“My son,” said the boy’s mother, in her gentle
voice, “can you afford to be less generous than
Mr. Cumberford and—your sister?”

Stephen flushed. Then he glanced toward Sybil
and found the girl eyeing him curiously,
expectantly.

“Oh, well,” he said, with reluctance, “let him
go. Such a fiend, at large, is a menace to society.
That is why I wished to make an example of him.
If aëroplanes are to be attacked in mid-air, after
this, the dangers of aviation will be redoubled.”

220“I wouldn’t worry about that,” carelessly remarked
Todd. “This fellow is too abject a coward
to continue a career of crime along those
lines. He’s had his lesson, and he’ll remember
it. I don’t say he’ll turn honest, for I imagine
it isn’t in him; but he’ll be mighty careful hereafter
how he conducts himself.”

“I—I’ll never step foot in an aëroplane
again!” growled Tyler, hoarsely but with great
earnestness.

“Suppose you meet Burthon again?” suggested
Steve, distrustfully.

“If I do,” said the man, scowling and clinching
his fists, “I—I’ll strangle him!”

“A nice, reformed character, I must say,” observed
Steve, with fine contempt.

“But he interests me—he interests me
greatly,” asserted Cumberford. “Let him go,
Steve.”

Radley-Todd looked round the circle of faces
with an amused smile, which grew tender as his
eye rested upon the placid features of Mrs. Kane.
The boy loved to study human nature; it had
possessed a fascination for him ever since he
could remember, and here was a fertile field for
observation. Reading accurately the desire of
those assembled to be rid of the abhorrent creature
he had brought before them, the young man
slowly rose and opened the door.

221“Tyler,” said he, “you’ve saved your skin.
Not by your whining falsehoods and misrepresentations,
but because these people are too noble
to be revenged upon one so ignoble and degraded.
But I’m not built that way myself. I’m longing
to kick you till you can’t stand, and there’s a
mighty power to my hamstrings, I assure you. I
refrain just now, because ladies are present, but
if I ever set eyes on your carcass again you’ll
think Cumberford’s kick was a mere love-pat.
Get out!”

Tyler cringed, turned without a word and
shuffled through the doorway.

Orissa came forward and took the young fellow’s
hand in her own, impulsively.

“Thank you, Mr. Todd!” she said.

He held the hand a moment and looked admiringly
into her upturned face.

“It is I who should give thanks, and I do,” he
answered reverently. “I thank God to-day, as I
have had occasion to do before, for his noblest
creation—the American girl.”

“Good!” cried Cumberford, with approval.
“That interests me.”

Orissa did fly the next day, as she had declared
she would. The morning papers were full of her
achievement, with columns of enthusiastic praise
for her beauty, her daring, her modesty and skill.
The attempt of a rival aëroplane to interfere with
her flight and her clever rescue of her enemy when
he came to grief made a popular heroine of the
girl, yet no one seemed to know the true history
of the astonishing affair. The Tribune had glowing
accounts of the day’s events from the pen of
Mr. H. Chesterton Radley-Todd, but this astute
correspondent refrained from making “a scoop,”
as he might have done had he bared his knowledge
of the conspiracy that ended with Orissa
Kane’s aërial adventure.

One of the other papers suspected Burthon of
being the instigator of the wicked plot to wreck
Miss Kane’s airship and, discovering the fact that
he had fled from the city, openly accused him.
Tyler could not be found, either, for the little ex-chauffeur
223had wisely “skipped the town” and his
former haunts knew him no more.

The judges awarded the Kane Aircraft the ten
thousand dollar prize, and singularly enough not
a word of protest came from the competing aviators.
Those who had attended the meet the day
before, and thousands who read of Orissa Kane
in the newspapers, eagerly assembled at Dominguez
to witness her further exhibitions on the
next day. It was estimated that fully fifty thousand
people were in attendance, and when the
Kane Aircraft appeared, decked with gay banners
and ribbons, and made a short flight above the
field, the girl aviator met with a reception such
as has never before been equaled in the annals
of aviation.

Later in the day Orissa took part in the contest
for speed and although she did not win this event
the girl aëronaut managed her biplane so gracefully
and pressed the leader in the race so closely
that she was accorded the admiring plaudits of
the spectators.

Steve was a little disappointed in the result,
but Mr. Cumberford reminded him that his employment
of crossed planes was sure to sacrifice
an element of speed for the sake of safety, and
assured him it was not at all necessary for his
invention to excel in swiftness to win universal
approval.

224In other events that followed during the progress
of the meet Orissa captured several of the
prizes, with the final result that the Kanes were
eighteen thousand dollars richer than they had
been before. Crowds constantly thronged the
Kane hangar, inspecting the wonderful machine
and questioning the attendants as to its construction
and management, while so many orders for
the aircraft were booked that Mr. Cumberford
assured Stephen they would be justified in at once
building a factory to supply the demand.

Throughout the meet Orissa Kane remained the
popular favorite and the wonderful performances
of the young girl were discussed in every place
where two or more people congregated. Had
Stephen been able to operate his own machine he
would not have won a tithe of the enthusiastic
praise accorded “The Flying Girl,” and this was
so evident that Orissa was instantly recognized
as the most important member of the firm.

Naturally she was overjoyed by her success,
yet she never once lost her humble and unassuming
manner or considered the applause in the light
of a personal eulogy. Devoting herself seriously
and with care to every detail of her work she
strove to exhibit Steve’s aircraft in a manner to
prove its excellence, and considered that her
important aim.

225There was nothing reckless about Orissa’s
flights; her success, then and afterward, may be
attributed to her coolness of head, a thorough
understanding of her machine and a full appreciation
of her own ability to handle it. The flattery
and adulation she received did not destroy
her self-poise or cause one flutter of her heart,
but when anyone praised the merits of the Kane
Aircraft, she flushed with pleasure and pride.
For Orissa firmly believed she basked in the reflected
glory of her brother’s inventive genius,
and considered herself no more than a showman
employed to exhibit his marvelous creation.

“You see,” she said to Chesty Todd, who stood
beside her in the hangar on the last day of the
meet while she watched Mr. Cumberford and his
assistants preparing the aircraft for its final
flight, “Stephen has a thorough education in
aëronautics and knows the caprices and requirements
of the atmosphere as well as a gardener
knows his earth. The machine is adjusted to
all those variations and demands, and that is why
it accomplishes with ease much that other aëroplanes
find difficult. A child might operate the
Kane Aircraft, and I feel perfectly at ease in my
seat, no matter how high I am or how conflicting
the air currents; for Steve’s machine will do exactly
what it is built to do.”

226“The machine is good,” observed Chesty, “but
your sublime self-confidence is better. You’re
a conceited young lady—not over your own skill,
but over that of your brother.”

She laughed.

“Haven’t I a right to be?” she asked.
“Hasn’t Steve proved his ability to the world?”