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Trouble Brews · The Non-Stop Stowaway

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  Chapter three of The Non Stop Stowaway. This is a LibriVox recording. All
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  LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,
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  please visit LibriVox dot org. Read by voice over Leon The Non Stop Stowaway
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  by Clayton Knight, Trouble Bruise. They awoke the next morning to find that
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  their adventure of the day before had made them famous. The newspapers all told
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  of the fight for life over the flying fields of Long Island. They told
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  of the real courage of the two men and the boy when an unforeseen mishap
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  had so nearly ruined their plane and their chances for a long distance record.
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  A reporter from one of the newspapers had questioned the mechanics in charge of the
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  plane and hinted that one of them had been careless in reassembling the undercarriage after
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  the new streamlining had been put in place. This was most difficult to prove,
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  certainly, Jack and the skipper did their best to decide from an inspection
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  of the wreckage of the broken axle what the trouble had been. The skipper
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  had great confidence in the two mechanics, Cosgrave and Billings who were looking after
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  the plane and felt quite sure of their loyalty. Jack was not so sure.
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  He had taken a dislike to Cosgrave and several times had voiced his distrust
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  to the Skipper about Billings, who was an English engine expert. There could
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  be no possible doubt he had been the Skipper's engine sergeant in France. There
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  was nothing particularly handsome about him. He was rugged, square, had large
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  ears and a shock of black hair hanging in his eyes. He was always
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  covered with grease and grit was ground into his hands. His fingernails were always
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  outlined in black. He was bandy legged, and even in an army uniform
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  he looked anything but soldier like. After the war, Billings had gone back
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  to England and had tried to keep busy, but times were hard and there
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  was an oversupply of skilled mechanics. He had drifted over to America and had
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  been working for several years at the factory that had built the engine for the
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  Skipper's plane. When the factory head had received the order for a specially built
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  engine for a particularly long NonStop flight, he had sent for Billings and told
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  him that here was an engine that must be watched through all its construction,
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  from the tiniest nut and bolt to the moment of its great trial. Nothing
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  must be overlooked. Everything must be tested and retested. It will make or
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  break our reputation, For I have every confidence in Captain McBride. Who is
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  going to make the try? He said, Billings face lighted up. That
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  wouldn't be Skipper McBride, er Captain Malcolm McBride, would it, Sir?
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  Yes, that's a man, a pilot with plenty of experience and the habit
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  of being lucky. Why, Sir, I was with him in France for
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  a year. He'll do it, and there's nobody would like to help him
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  more than me. Is he here? Could I see him? No?
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  But if you want to write him, here's his address. He hasn't come
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  east yet. So in the Skipper's mail one morning a few days later was
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  a letter from Billings Captain Malcolm McBride, DFC. Dear Sir, I take
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  my pen in hand to tell you that this is your old sergeant Billings of
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  number two oh six Squadron. You will remember me from the old days in
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  France, especially the time you took me up for a ride and threw the
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  old Bristol Fighter about until I lost my false teeth and had to get leave
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  to go back to London to get a new set fitted. I am working
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  now for the company that is building your engine, and you can reassured that
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  I will watch it captain until it is ready for delivery. What I was
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  wondering was, wouldn't you be needing someone to look after it until your hop
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  off. I would like nothing better than that job. I think I could
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  get a leave to help you if you would write to mister Block, hoping
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  this finds you in the pink as it leaves me yours respectfully. CM Billings
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  X, Sergeant RAF. To say that the skipper was pleased is putting it
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  much too mildly. Of course, he remembered Billings. Billings had been with
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  his squadron during all his flying days in France. Billings had been the the
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  last man he had seen as he left the ground each day, and the
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  first man to greet him as he landed and taxied to an open space in
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  front of the old squadron hangars engine. All right, Sir Billings would ask,
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  even before the skipper had swung his cramped legs out of the plane.
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  Billings's personal interest in those engines had been almost motherly. Once returning from a
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  trip to the lines, Skipper had been caught in an almost tropical downpour of
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  rain, which made it necessary for him to land and spend the night at
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  an aerodrome about thirty miles away from his own When he did get back to
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  his own field, Billings had seemed about to take the whole engine apart,
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  just to make sure that it had not been mistreated while away. Here surely
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  was the sort of loyalty that would be needed in their new adventure. Therefore,
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  the Skipper lost no time in writing East to make sure that Billings would
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  come with the engine and help them off to their goal of Cosgrave. Both
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  Jack and the Skipper knew very little. He had been recommended by the people
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  who had built the plane, and had seemed to go about his work willingly
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  and to do it well. He had apparently obeyed all their orders and was
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  ready to help at all times. He had even offered to bring over a
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  cot and sleep in the hangar so as to keep an eye on the plane.
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  This he had done, and was always there early and late. Jack
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  had said to the Skipper one night, I liked Cosgrave all right, but
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  I can't say as much for some of his friends. The Skipper had thought
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  little about this until the accident with the wheel. Then he began to wonder
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  if Cosgrave were on the level, or if there were something underhanded going on.
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  The whole thing might bear a little watching, but surely no one could
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  have any object in stopping their flight. True, there were others who would
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  like to get the prize, money and the prestige. It would bring another
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  group of men with a plane almost as good as the Skippers were at a
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  nearby field, and were getting a good deal of publicity. Every day the
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  papers carried new stories about their plane. However, the gossip heard around the
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  hangars told of quarrels and dissensions between the pilots and their powerful backers. Lawyers
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  had been busy drawing up contracts and counter contracts. It seemed hardly possible to
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  the Skipper that their activities would carry them so far as definitely to try to
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  interfere with him and Jack. He dismissed the whole thing from his mind,
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  and with his usual energy, began to put the plane into shape with as
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  little delay as possible. His confidence in his streamlining idea for the wheels was
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  unshaken. However, the few minutes they had been in the air had given
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  them no check on their speed. Repairs of a temporary nature had to be
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  made quickly at the army field, a new propeller was ordered. During the
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  two days these repairs were going on, Kiwi had a chance to see and
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  explore the new field. All during the day, army planes fully equipped with
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  guns were taking off and landing and practicing close V formations over the field.
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  The pilot's uniforms, with their silver wings, were a welcome change from the
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  Gulf clothes that most of the men at the other field wore. True to
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  his promise, the Skipper took Kiwi into New York, where they went to
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  a huge store on Madison Avenue and ordered a tunic and breeches to be made
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  for him. Kiwi secretly hoped that Dad would buy him some field boots such
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  as he wore, but Dad seemed to think that leather putties would do as
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  well. The salesman in the store had recognized the pair from their newspaper photographs,
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  and they were the center of attention during their stay. The man who
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  took Kiwi's measure remarked about his straitness and his sturdy shoulders. He said it
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  would take a week for the uniform to be finished, and Kiwi could hardly
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  wait to see it. However, the days passed, the new propeller was
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  fitted, the plane was flown back to the old hangar, and the tests
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  went on. It was finally established that the Skipper had been right. The
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  new streamlining had increased the speed of the plane by exactly eight miles an hour.
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  There could be no question that it was an advantage. Through one of
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  Jack's friends in the Navy, they met a chemist who was developing a new
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  fuel, lighter in weight than gasoline and nearly twice as powerful. He was
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  anxious for them to try it out on their flight to India. Their experiments
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  with it had led the Skipper and Jack to believe that it was a real
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  discovery, and they decided to test it out on a long flight before the
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  big hop. The tanks were nearly filled with the new fuel, and early
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  one morning they took off for Washington. It was to be their longest test
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  and would give them a good check on their speed and fuel consumption. Kiwi
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  was not to go along, but Bert had promised to take him on a
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  sailing picnic that day. Several times Kiwi had seen Bert in his sailboat with
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  a crowd aboard, sail off up the bay, and he was torn between
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  the desire to go with Burt and the feeling that he did not want to
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  miss a day at the flying field. Dad and Jack had been gone about
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  half an hour when Bert sailed alongside the houseboat and Kiwi hopped aboard. They
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  spent a glorious day along the sunlit shore of the Sound, and at noon
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  put into Mattatuck, where they built a fire on the beach and had their
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  lunch. They roasted potatoes, fried some bacon, and ropped with a friendly
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  dog who came to visit them. The shore was wide and sandy, and
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  about an hour after lunch they had a swim in the cool waters of the
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  sound. On the trip back, the wind died down and they lay becalmed
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  for nearly an hour. Then a light wind sprang up from another quarter.
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  The sun sank lower in the west. There were still some miles from home.
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  Bert finally gave up trying to sail, started the auxiliary engine, and
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  they slowly chugged up the bay. It was dark as they drew abreast the
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  houseboat, and there were no lights showing. Bert wrote a note and left
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  it for the skipper, and carried Kiwi off to his own home for dinner.
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  The day in the open had made him ravenously hungry, and the meal
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  served in the wide, cool dining room facing the shore was doubly welcome for
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  its touch of home. Bert's wife, who was waiting as they drew up
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  to the little dock, had embraced Kiwi with a great squeeze as Bert called
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  out, how about some food for that boy. She had only fleeting glimpses
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  of Kiwi since the day of his arrival. He had seemed so busy with
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  the men folks. However, she must have had some experience with small boys,
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  for several times pies, cakes, and doughnuts had been sent out to
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  him. He liked her cheery bustling about the dining room. It called to
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  mind his mother, who seemed to be somewhere in his shadowy past. He
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  had missed her terribly after she had gone, and tonight, seeing Bert's wife
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  so busy about the house brought it all back to him. Dinner over,
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  they had gone out on the wide Verandah in time to see a new moon
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  climbing up from the hills. Bert had telephoned the field and came back with
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  the report that Dad's plane had circled Washington, had wireless, that all was
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  well, and had started for Norfolk early in the afternoon. The minutes dragged.
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  More calls to the field brought them little comfort. The plane had been
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  seen over Cape May, but no wireless call had come from it. About
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  nine thirty, Kiwi was packed off to bed, and as he lay there
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  he heard Bert at the phone, still calling the flying field. Tucked into
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  this strange bed in a spare room at the height of the stairs, he
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  lay thinking about the plane, the cool white sheets, the chintz curtains at
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  the window, the little nick knacks on the dresser were unaccustomed and almost forgotten
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  niceties. The wind and the sun during the day had made him drowsy,
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  but he could not sleep for wondering what was happening to Dad and Jack.
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  It was so calm and peaceful there in the little room. The light breeze
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  that stirred the window curtains only helped to emphasize this calm. Still somewhere out
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  along the coast. Perhaps Dad and Jack were in trouble. He tried to
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  picture some adventure that might have befallen them if they had had to land in
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  the water. He remembered that they had no boat. The collapsible rubber one
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  which they were to take on their trip across the ocean had not yet arrived.
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  If they did have to land, he hoped that it might be near
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  some farmhouse which would give them shelter for the night. As he fell asleep,
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  Bert's voice came drifting up the stairs, repeating the words that had just
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  come over the telephone. No news. End of Chapter three.