“I told you so!” cried Hiram, jubilantly. “When we first saw the airship and its queer doings, and ran after it, didn’t I tell you that Dave couldn’t be at the wheel, Mr. Grimshaw?”

“You did, and I felt sure he wasn’t,” commented Grimshaw. “Who was?” he challenged, bluntly.

“That’s quite a story,” explained Dave.

“Then tell it.”

“I don’t want much said about it for the present,” stipulated the young aviator.

“All right,” nodded Grimshaw.

Dave motioned his friends out of earshot of the gardener, who was pottering about his broken panes. Then he told the whole story.

“Why, the wretches!” growled old Grimshaw, fiercely, when the narrative was concluded.

“The mean sneaks!” exclaimed the indignant Hiram. “Left you here in that fix, not knowing whether you were dead or alive.”

“I’d have those two rascals locked up, double-quick,” advised Grimshaw.

“No,” dissented Dave.

“Why not?”

“I want to think things over a bit, before I decide on what I shall do,” was the reply. “I have no patience with the fellow called Vernon.”

“Take my word for it, he’s a bad one,” declared Grimshaw.

“The other one – young Brackett – I feel sorry for.”

“Of course you do,” observed Grimshaw, rather sarcastically; “that’s your usual way. Who’s going to pay for the damage here? Say, you take my advice – teach those two smart Alecks a lesson by having them arrested, and send the bill to Mr. Brackett, telling him all the circumstances.”

“I’d a good deal rather help young Brackett than harm him,” said Dave, considerately. “He doesn’t strike me as a bad fellow at heart. It’s the influence of Vernon that is leading him into trouble.”

“How’s the machine?”

“Not in very bad shape. I think there are enough tools and materials aboard to mend her up till we get home.”

All three of them looked the

Gossamer

over critically. Expert that he was, old Grimshaw soon had the machine free of the trellis and the injured parts repaired. Dave went over to the gardener, who was figuring on the side of a fence post with a piece of chalk.

“Well, my friend,” he said cheerily; “what’s the damage?”

“Why, you’re acting so handsomely about it, I want to make the bill as reasonable as I can,” was the reply.

“Of course you do – that’s the right way.”

“The frames aren’t much broken,” explained the man. “About all there is to do is to replace the glass.”

“Yes, but there’s a heap of it,” said Dave.

“We buy the panes by the gross. I’m willing to do the setting and puttying myself. I think twenty dollars will cover everything.”

Dave took out his pocket book, selected some bank bills, and handed them to the man. He heard an ominous growl from old Grimshaw behind him, and caught a “S’t! S’t! S’t!” from the exasperated Hiram. Dave, however, had his own ideas as to disposing of the matter in hand.

“If you find it’s more, you know where to see me,” said Dave to the gardener.

“Say, you’re an easy one,” observed Grimshaw, with a look of disgust on his face.

“It’s a shame to let those vandals go scot free,” scolded Hiram.

“I’m glad the

Gossamer

didn’t get smashed up, as I feared,” was all the young aviator would reply.

Dave made pretty sure that the machine would stand a trip back to the enclosure. To his satisfaction he made the flight without any mishap. Looking the craft over more critically after the return, however, he decided that the wings and floats would need some expert attention before he could venture any extended flight.

It was dark by the time they got the airship housed and supper ready in the living tent. After the meal Hiram strolled away, saying he would go to town after the evening mail. Dave and Grimshaw went inside the tent as a shower came up. They chatted agreeably, watching the gentle rain in the glint of the tent light.

“Hello,” said the old man, bending his ear sharply.

“Yes,” nodded Dave, “some one is knocking at the gate.”

“I’ll go and see who it is.”

“Maybe it’s Hiram.”

“No, he’s got a key.”

Grimshaw went away. Dave heard him talking with someone outside the gate. He was a little surprised as his old friend secured the gate after him. He was further puzzled to note the expression on Grimshaw’s face as he came back into the tent.

“Who was it, Mr. Grimshaw?” questioned Dave.

“Humph! he didn’t get in. Now see here, you take my advice and don’t run into another trap.”

“Another trap?”

“That’s what I said. There’s a fellow out there that wants to see you. He’s mighty meek and humble, but from what you told me I guess pretty straight that he’s the chap who tried to run the

Gossamer

this afternoon.”

“Is he alone?” asked Dave, rising quickly from the camp stool.

“Yes, he’s alone. If the bigger fellow had been with him I’d have licked him.”

“And he wants to see me?” questioned Dave.

“Mealy mouthed and subdued, just that.”

“Why didn’t you invite him in?”

“Why didn’t I? Say, Dave Dashaway!” stormed the old man, “I believe in forgiving dispositions, but drat me if I’d quite let a trouble-maker like that young Brackett get a second chance to mix things up.”

“I hardly think he means any harm this time,” said Dave, and hurried to the gate.

Outside, a patch of sticking plaster over one eye and one arm in a sling, and looking rather mean and ashamed, young Brackett dropped his glance as Dave appeared.

“Come in, won’t you?” invited the young aviator, quite heartily.

“No, I don’t think I’d better,” replied his visitor, in a low tone. “See here, Dashaway, I’ve got my senses back, and I don’t want you or anybody else to think I’m some cheap cad.”

“Certainly not,” responded Dave. “What’s the trouble?”

“I’ve come to give you this money,” explained Brackett, extending his hand. “As soon as I got enough over being scared to feel ashamed of myself, I slipped away from that confounded Vernon. He’s always getting me into trouble.”

“What do you run with him for, then?” questioned Dave, gently. “See here,” he added, placing his hand in a friendly way on the boy’s shoulder; “you may be headstrong and foolish at times, but that man doesn’t belong in your class.”

“You’re just right,” began Brackett, in a spirited way, and then, as if he feared to go farther into the subject, he added in a moody, dissatisfied tone: “Never mind about that. I’ve come to pay you back the twenty dollars you gave to the man down at the greenhouses. I went to pay him myself, but you had gotten ahead of me. I can’t let you stand for one cent of damage I did, and if there’s any other expense – ”

“None at all,” Dave hastened to say. “See here, you’ve shown me you are the right sort. I don’t like that man Vernon, and down at heart I don’t think you do, either.”

“It don’t matter whether I do or not,” muttered the boy. “I don’t dare to break away from him till – well till – I feel I’m safe out of his clutches.”

“If you are in any foolish trouble – ” began Dave.

“I won’t discuss it,” declared young Brackett, quite stormily. “Take the money, and – see here, Dashaway, I’ll give worlds to keep this from the old man.”

“You mean your father?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you say so, then,” upbraided Dave.

Young Brackett bit his lip.

“I’ll try to after this,” he promised, quite humbly. “That’s all,” he added, as Dave took the bank notes.

“I do wish you’d make a friend of me and let me help you out, if it will do any good,” said Dave, wistfully.

Brackett dropped his head. Then he gave it a savage jerk.

“You’re all right, Dashaway,” he said, “but I’ve got to pay for my fast sledding, and I’ll do it like a man.”

“Come and see me again,” invited Dave.

“Hardly,” responded Brackett. “Our paths probably won’t cross again – and you’re probably the gainer for it.”

“I don’t know that,” declared Dave. “Rest easy on one score – I shall not say anything to your father about to-day’s scrape.”

“Thank you, Dashaway.”

“But I wish you would tell him. Come, now – he’s your best friend. If you’ve been a little wild, go to him and tell him about it.”

“A little wild!” repeated Brackett. Then he gave a bitter laugh, waved his hand at Dave, and disappeared in the darkness.

“Poor fellow!” said Dave, thoughtfully. “I’m afraid, as he hinted, he is in the clutches of that sharper, Vernon. I wish I knew a way to help him out.”

Dave re-entered the enclosure a good deal subdued. Young Brackett had said that their paths might never cross again. Dave hoped if they ever did cross his late visitor would be in a better frame of mind.

Their paths were to cross, indeed, although neither of them realized it at that moment. Dave Dashaway was to hear of him again very soon, and in a truly remarkable way.

CHAPTER VI

A MYSTERIOUS FLASH

“Well, what did he want?” challenged Grimshaw, gruffly, as the young aviator entered the living tent.

“It was young Brackett,” said Dave. “He came to settle the damage up at the greenhouses.”

“With real money?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You surprise me,” observed the old man, drily.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Mr. Grimshaw,” said Dave. “There is some good in him.”

“Humph! It’s all under the surface, then. You are too soft-hearted, Dashaway. It’s of a piece with that Jerry Dawson affair. After he and his crowd had done you all kinds of harm, stolen the

Drifter

and tried to put you out of business, you let him go scot free.”

“Hoping Jerry had learned his lesson and would behave himself.”

“Which he won’t,” affirmed the old man, strenuously. “I’ll wager he’ll pop up in some mean way before you get through with this giant airship scheme.”

“There’s Hiram,” announced Dave, brightly, as the gate slammed and a cheery whistle echoed through the enclosure.

Dave’s loyal young assistant came into the tent flushed and animated from a run in the rain.

“Any mail?” inquired Dave.

“Yes, a letter and a telegram,” replied Hiram, handing two envelopes to Dave.

The young aviator opened the telegram first. He looked at its enclosure so long and steadily that his two friends began to regard him with deep curiosity.

“Well, that’s queer,” said Dave at length.

“What is?” challenged Hiram.

“This message.”

“Who is it from?”

“The Interstate people.”

“What does it say?” asked Hiram.

“I’ll read it: ‘Good advertising – keep it up.’”

“H’m,” observed Grimshaw. “That’s sort of puzzling. Now, what does it mean?”

Dave shook his head vaguely.

“I really don’t know,” he admitted.

Hiram began to grin. Then he laughed outright.

“Do you?” demanded Dave, glancing suspiciously at his friend.

Hiram slapped his knee emphatically, chuckling the while. He began feeling in the outside pockets of his coat.

“I didn’t know at first,” he spoke; “but I think I can guess it out now.”

Hiram drew out a folded newspaper, opened it up, glanced over it, and refolded it so as to show a half-column article with a display head.

“City evening paper, that just came down with the mail,” he explained. “Look at that, Dave Dashaway, and say you aren’t famous!”

Our hero was a good deal surprised to find in the newspaper a glowing article about the unselfish heroism of a rising young aviator, who had encountered vivid danger in doing a noble service for a poor girl.

Dave saw at once that the enterprising newspaper man at Easton had made a fine story of the sensational episode. The

Gossamer

was lauded for its handsome conduct in a storm, and the Interstate Aero Company was commended for building such a staunch aircraft. Dave was given full justice, and the interesting little story was told in a very pathetic way.

“You understand now, I reckon, Dave?” chuckled Hiram.

“Why, in a way, yes.”

“I suppose the story has been telegraphed all over the country,” said Hiram. “It’s a good one. The Interstate people saw it, and wired you at once.”

Old Grimshaw read the newspaper article eagerly in his turn. He gloated over the handsome things said about Dave.

“I’m proud of you, as usual, Dashaway,” he observed.

Dave opened the letter Hiram had brought him. He read it through with a face indicating considerable satisfaction.

“Here’s a pleasant bit of news,” he announced to his two friends.

“From Mr. King, isn’t it?” inquired Hiram. “I noticed the handwriting and the postmark.”

“Yes,” replied Dave.

“Anything interesting about the giant airship?”

“A whole lot,” answered Dave, briskly. “It seems that Mr. Dale has been fortunate enough to find a French aero man who spent several years in foreign dirigible service. Mr. King writes that he is something of an inventor and a practical man in airship construction.”

“That’s famous, Dashaway,” voted Grimshaw, with enthusiasm.

“They are going to push the big craft towards completion just as fast as they can,” reported Dave. “Mr. King writes that they need me and that he is financing the project on my account. He wants me to get the Interstate people to release us, and all of us get to Croydon soon as we can.”

“Then the trip across the Atlantic is a sure thing!” cried the excited Hiram.

“Mr. King thinks so.”

“Hurrah!” shouted the delighted lad.

“I hope they count me in,” spoke Grimshaw, a flicker of the old professional fire and ardor in his eyes. “Since I got knocked out of service by my bad fall from a biplane, I’ve been pretty well shelved. I’d like to figure in the biggest aero exploit ever attempted, though.”

“You are going to, if the rest of us do,” said Dave. “Mr. King settled that in my last talk with him.”

“He did?”

“Yes. He says you understand a dirigible better than he does a monoplane.”

“I’m pretty well posted on balloons, yes,” asserted the veteran aeronaut, with a look of considerable pride.

There was little else talked of by the friends but the giant airship the rest of that evening. Dave, later, devoted an hour to writing a long letter to the Interstate people. He told them that Mr. King needed him, and hoped they could find it convenient to release him without delay from his contract.

Like the real business boy and faithful employe that he was, however, Dave went through regular routine duty the next day. The agent of the company brought down his clients that afternoon, and Dave showed off the

Gossamer

at her best paces.

The ensuing day and the one next following he made the regular ascents for the resort people.

The expected reply to Dave’s letter finally arrived. The Interstate people wrote that they were sorry to lose so valued an employe, and added a pleasant word concerning Grimshaw and Hiram. They hoped that the giant airship exploit would be a great success, and announced that at any time a good position for Dave was open with them.

A liberal check was enclosed in the letter, and the statement made that a man to take charge of the

Gossamer

would leave the works for Lake Linden the next day.

Dave looked around for young Brackett whenever he strolled about the lake resort and the village. He did not, however, come across either the youth or the man Vernon. He made some inquiries, and was troubled to learn that the pair had gotten into a fight at the town hotel, had smashed up some furniture, and had left the place with a pretty bad record.

Dave gave a day to his successor, teaching him the ropes. Monday afternoon he had everything packed up ready to take the train for Croydon, where the giant airship was under construction. Hiram, who had been earning very good wages of late, had ordered a new suit of clothes in the village. It would not be done until the next morning.

“You go ahead, Dashaway,” advised Grimshaw. “There’s nothing to keep you here, and Mr. King seems to need you. Hiram and I will come on to-morrow.”

This arrangement was agreed on. Dave took the train, and reached Croydon about dusk. He found it to be a busy little manufacturing city near the coast. From what Mr. King had written him, and through some inquiries, Dave was soon on his way to the so-called aerodrome, where the giant airship was being built.

An old roofless molding shop had been utilized for the construction. It looked lonely and deserted as Dave came up to it. The windows were boarded up, apparently to keep out prying eyes. The big front doors were closely padlocked, and a temporary canvas roof was in place.

The street lamps of the city ran out to the factory, and nearby were some houses. Dave felt sure that Mr. King and the others had taken living quarters in the vicinity. He had no doubt that a little inquiry would result in locating them.

Dave walked around the old plant, thinking a good deal of the proud hopes that attached to the big airship inside. The upper pair of windows of the place were not boarded up. Dave’s eyes chanced to be scanning these as he was about to cross the street to where the houses were.

“Hello!” he cried out sharply, in a startled way.

A sudden flash, bright and dazzling, shot across the whole row of windows from the interior of the building. It resembled the illumination made by a sudden powder blast, but there was no report.

“Why, what can that be?” exclaimed the bewildered young aviator.

Dave bent his ear and listened. No sound broke the stillness. He could not figure out the circumstances for the moment. He was puzzled, and yet reluctant to leave the spot without learning what the mysterious flash portended.

“Someone!” spoke Dave, suddenly.

Then he broke into a run. Mystery had become suspicion. Against the light of a corner lamp, he saw, away down the length of the building, the outlines of a ladder. Its top rested on the sill of one of the upper windows.

The window was open. Through the aperture a form had quickly scrambled. Dave felt sure that some underhand work was in progress.

“Hey, there; who are you? What are you up to?” he shouted.

As he challenged, Dave ran towards the ladder. The person descending it hurried his progress, leaped from it, cast a hurried look at the approaching youth, and darted across the street.

Our hero noticed that he held in one hand a small black case about ten inches square.

As the fugitive turned the street corner he looked again to see how closely he was being pursued. The lamp light fell full upon his face.

“The mischief!” fairly shouted the amazed young aviator. “It’s Jerry Dawson!”

CHAPTER VII

AT THE AERODROME

Dave Dashaway was greatly startled. All along the line of his airship experience Jerry Dawson had crossed his path, always in a threatening and troublesome way. A quick thinker, the young aviator traced a new menace in this unexpected appearance of the scampish plotter.

“It certainly means no good for either my friends or myself,” reflected our hero. “What mischief has he been up to inside the aerodrome? That flash meant something. What?”

Dave ran on for a bit, but soon discovered that he was wasting time in striving to overtake the fugitive. Jerry had made good his escape among the scattered buildings beyond the street corner where he had disappeared from view.

Dave hurried to the house nearest to the aerodrome. He ran up its steps and knocked briskly at its door. A woman appeared in response to the summons.

“I am looking for the people working in the old factory over yonder,” explained Dave, hurriedly.

“Oh, yes, the balloon folks, you mean? They board at my sister’s house.”

“And where is that?”

“Second house from the next corner. Number twenty-seven.”

“Thank you,” said Dave and was off like a flash. “Oh, Mr. King!” he called out a moment later, as he recognized the well-known figure of the veteran airman crossing the street just ahead of him.

“Why, Dashaway!” exclaimed Mr. King, in a hearty way. “We’ve been expecting you, and I’m glad you’ve come. Grimshaw and Hiram – ”

“I’ll tell you later,” interrupted Dave, rather unceremoniously. “Mr. King, get right over to the aerodrome. Something’s up.”

“Why, what do you mean, Dashaway?”

“Mischief is brewing, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Mischief? In what way?”

The young airman lost no time in briefly recounting his discovery. He had Mr. King as thoroughly stirred up as himself by the time he had concluded his graphic recital.

“This is serious,” declared Mr. King, very much disturbed. “Dawson again, eh? It’s easy to guess trouble when that young scapegrace is around. It fits in with – but that will keep. There is no time to wait. Stay here for a minute.”

The expert aviator dashed into the house, while Dave waited in the street. He kept his eye fixed on the aerodrome, half expecting every moment to see it burst into flames.

“Here we are,” announced Mr. King, reappearing on a run with two companions. One of them was Mr. Dale, who grasped Dave’s hand while hurrying along. The other man Dave had never seen before.

“That is Leblance, our new man,” explained Mr. Dale.

“Don’t delay!” called out Mr. King, excitedly, leading the way, and the group reached the entrance to the aerodrome in less than two minutes.

Mr. King unlocked the door. As he opened it he reached in and touched the button controlling the electric lights. A blaze of radiance suddenly illuminated the rambling place, making it as bright as day.

In the center of the shop, supported on a working frame and by the iron girders aloft, was the skeleton of the giant airship. The young aviator was eagerly ready for full attention to the object so dear to him. All his faculties, however, were for the instant enlisted in an effort to trace out the significance of the surreptitious visit of Jerry Dawson.

“There does not seem to be anything out of place,” said Mr. King, after a swift survey of the dirigible balloon.

“Oh, but I smell powder,” observed Leblance, sniffing.

“Powder?” repeated Mr. Dale.

“Yes. There has been some kind of an explosion here,” insisted the French engineer looking around.

Dave hurried over to the window where he had first discovered Jerry Dawson. There were a number of tall, slim ladders all about the working framework. He lifted one of these against the sill of the window aloft. Then he ran up its rounds nimbly.

“Aha!” suddenly exclaimed the young aviator.

“Found something, Dashaway?” called out Mr. King.

“Yes, sir.”

“What is it?”

For reply Dave quickly descended the ladder. He held in one hand a sooted tin disc. Its center showed a little heap of hard cinders.

“I found this on the window sill,” he explained.

“What is it?” questioned Mr. Dale.

“I think I guess the motive of Jerry Dawson’s visit now,” said Dave. “The little black box he had under his arm was a camera. This is the flashlight disc.”

“Hello!” exclaimed Mr. King, comprehendingly.

“They have been photographing our balloon!” cried Leblance.

“Exactly,” asserted the young aviator.

The engineer and Mr. Dale exchanged disturbed looks. Mr. King was thoughtful.

“We might have expected it,” he said, but to Dave only.

“How is that?” inquired our hero.

“I’ll tell you soon as we reach the house. I am glad they did no harm to the balloon. I hardly think they will try that, Leblance,” he said to the Frenchman, “but you had better get one of your men to stay on watch here nights.”

“Yes, yes,” responded Leblance earnestly. “We have been warned, we must look out.”

“Come with me, Dashaway,” said Mr. King. “I have a lot to talk over with you.”

Mr. Dale remained at the aerodrome until Leblance could hunt up one of his workmen and place him on watchman’s duty. The aviator led his young friend to the boarding house. Dave declared that he was not hungry, but his host would not consent to this impending talk until he had dispatched a good meal. Then he took him to his own room, locked the door to secure them from interruption, and made him take a comfortable armchair.

“You have arrived in the nick of time, Dashaway,” said Mr. King. “I’ve felt the need of you for some days.”

“I can’t be of much assistance until the airship is finished, I should think,” suggested the young aviator.

“That is true so far as the

Albatross

is concerned,” agreed Mr. King. “That end of the proposition is in capable hands, I am glad to say. We have been very fortunate in securing the services of Leblance. He is an expert in airship construction, helped to build several models in Europe, and has some splendid new ideas. I am now satisfied that the

Albatross

will be all that we have hoped for.”

“That is good,” said Dave.

“It seems that our project has made quite a stir in the aviation world,” proceeded Mr. King. “All the clubs are interested, the central association has taken the matter up, and there is a chance of a bulk prize of at least fifty thousand dollars being offered.”

“Grand!” commented Dave, with sparkling eyes. “It’s worth trying for, isn’t it, Mr. King?”

“And we will get it, if there’s no miss in our plans – and no trickery, Dashaway,” asserted the veteran airman, confidently. “I have counted all the risks and chances. Given fair conditions, I believe our group will successfully make the first airship voyage across the Atlantic. To-morrow I will show you how far we have progressed, and how carefully Leblance is planning to turn out the finest dirigible ever constructed. It will make you as hopeful and enthusiastic as myself.”

“I’m that already,” insisted the young aviator.

“Very good, but I need your services for a certain phase of the proposition that is worrying me.”

“What is that, Mr. King?”

“Well, Dashaway,” answered the expert airman, “I have reason to believe that we will not be the only contestant in a race across the Atlantic. In fact,” continued Mr. King, seriously, “I am quite certain

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Dave Dashaway and His Giant Airship: or, A Marvellous Trip Across the Atlantic

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