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The Plane Tested · The Non-Stop Stowaway

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  Chapter one 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. The plane tested supper was over. The man and the
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  boy, although they had finished, seemed in no hurry to clear the table.
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  Darkness had come, and through the windows of their little houseboat, twinkling
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  lights on the shore half a mile away were reflected. In the quiet waters
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  of the bay, all was still, except for the put putt of a
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  motor boat a long way off. The man, in blue trousers and white
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  shirt with the collar open, seemed to be listening for something. The boy
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  tried hard to get him to talk. How long will dad be? Do
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  you suppose? Will he come back by train? Or will he fly back?
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  Were some of his questions. Jack's replied to them all had been we'll
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  see. The boy thought to himself, what a silly answer, but that
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  seemed to be all the silent sailorman would say. He looked little enough like
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  a sailor now, and not nearly as grand and imposing as when he had
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  met the boy and his father in New York as they stepped off the train
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  on their arrival from the West nearly a month ago. At that time,
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  he had appeared in his uniform of blue with gold braid and gold wings.
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  As they had driven out from the station across the crowded city with its strange
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  noises and bewildering lights, there had been time to do little more than notice
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  the slim straitness of him. His dad had said to Jack after the first
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  greetings were over. Well, here's the young fellow I wrote you about.
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  I couldn't leave him out west, and besides, he will be a great
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  help around the hangar, and Jack had replied as he shook hands. One
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  more Kiwi for our camp, right, said Dad. But I have had
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  to make him a promise that he won't be a Kiwi for long. Kiwi
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  was a good enough name in its way, and it did seem to stick
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  to him wherever Dad went. All his boyfriends knew him as Snub. But
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  of course the boys knew so little about flying, and few of them knew
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  where the name of Kiwi came from. Dad had told him that during the
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  war, and Dad had been there so he should know. All of the
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  officers who did not fly had come to be known as Kiwi's, named after
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  a bird from Australia or New Zealand which had wings but did not fly.
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  So Kiwi he was there seemed a promise in the name that one of these
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  days he would learn to fly, for after all, a kiwi did have
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  wings. It was something to start with, and on all the flights he
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  had gone on with Dad, he had kept his eyes open and now felt
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  that he understood all that had to be done to control the plane. Often,
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  when they landed after a flight, old wartime friends of Dad's would come
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  over with a loud well, Skipper, how's the boy doing? Going to
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  send him off solo soon? And Dad would reply, not yet a while.
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  He has a lot to learn, and there's plenty of time yet.
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  So on that first meeting with Jack, as they rolled across the bridge to
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  Long Island, Kiwi had wondered if this broad shouldered sailor flier could be coaxed
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  into teaching him. Dad and Jack had been too busy talking to notice him.
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  Dad was asking a thousand questions. How much had they got done on
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  the ship? Were the tanks installed yet had the motor been shipped. Dad
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  seemed upset that moore had not been accomplished. We must get a hustle on
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  if we're to get off by the fifteenth of June, he had said.
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  After they had been riding for some time, Kiwi asked, whose house are
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  we going to? Dad? Dad turned to Jack, who hurriedly said,
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  wait till you see. I have had a wonderful idea. You remember old
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  Bert who used to fly the pontoons over at Rockaway, who would loop any
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  old crate that would let him fly. He has a shipyard over here and
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  his building house boats two sizes, and he thought we would like to use
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  one of the smaller ones, just one big room and a little kitchen and
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  a porch. We can more at where we like sleep under the awning on
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  top, and keep the car on the shore nearby, so that we can
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  run back and forth to the field. That will only take about twenty minutes,
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  and it means a good swim in the morning and another after mucking around
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  the hangars all day. Does the Kiwi swim like a fish? Well that's
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  settled. Then a half hour later they swung down a long hill and into
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  the main street of a little town nestling in a deep valley, with a
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  long lakelike arm of the sound coming nearly to the center of the village.
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  They turned off and wound through a big yard, where piles of boards and
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  planks and beams rose up like top heavy buildings along the narrow roads. The
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  smell of cedar and pine hung in the air. They drew up at the
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  wide open door of a shed, from which came the whine of buzz saws
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  and the pounding of hammers. They had hardly stopped when a sunburned man appeared
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  at the door, evidently expecting them. Hello, Bert, they called.
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  He rushed over to the car, shook hands with Dad, and there was
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  a great hubbub of questions and answers. He said their boat was waiting and
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  it would be a tip top place to spend a cool hour or so.
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  Hearing all the news, they were rowed out and Kiwi spent busy minutes exploring
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  the little houseboat. He came into the sitting room in time to hear Dad
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  say to Bert. As soon as the backers came across with the money,
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  I wired burrows to start work on the plane. As we had planned it
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  and to rush through it so that we could make our tests and still get
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  off in June while the weather was good. Then I turned heaven and earth
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  trying to find Jack. I had no idea whether he was out east with
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  the fleet or had come back. When I did locate him, he was
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  able to get leave from the Navy to make the flight, and hopped a
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  train for Washington and got right to work on weather maps. He seems to
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  have the navigation part of our trip very thoroughly in hand. Tomorrow I will
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  get over to the factory and see if they cannot be hurried with the plane.
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  And from then on there had been endless conferences with old friends and new
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  about equipment to be taken, routes to be followed, wind currents to dodge.
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  The days had stretched into weeks, and still the plane was on the
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  ground. Kiwi had been taken to the factory twice. The plane looked enormous,
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  even in its unfinished state. The body of the machine still lacked its
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  covering, but in its middle sat an enormous metal tank. Control wires seemed
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  to run in all directions. The big wing also carried two tanks, and
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  only the wing tips were hollow. The engine was still missing. There were
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  reports that it had been shipped, but for days after that it did not
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  put in an appearance. Nearly always, Jack and Kiwi spent the day on
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  the houseboat or driving over the winding country roads nearby. Jack poured over maps
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  and strange charts. He brought home queer instruments and tested them from the roof
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  of their houseboat. During the moonlight nights, they swam, and once or
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  twice they went fishing. At last, the day came when the plane was
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  finished and must be taken up for its first test flight. Jack and Dad
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  had talked it over the day before, and it was decided that Jack and
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  Kiwi should stay on the boat and let Dad do the testing. You'll get
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  plenty of chances, Jack, later on, after I get the feel of
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  it. So now, Jack and Kiwi sat there on the houseboat after supper,
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  impatiently waiting for the sound of oars. About nine o'clock they heard a
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  little boat bump against their home and both rushed out. It was Dad.
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  Jack, she flies, she really does. She lifted off the ground in
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  about two hundred yards and handled like a dream. Of course, there are
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  some things to be done, but they can be fixed when we get the
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  plane over at our field. You and I will go after it tomorrow and
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  start our own work on it. May I go with you to bring it
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  back? Dad, Kiwi asked, well, not this time. You'll have
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  other chances. Later on the day that Dad and Jack went after the plane
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  dragged endlessly for Kiwi. He had been driven over to the aerodrome early so
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  that he could welcome them when they arrived. Ordinarily, he would have been
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  interested in the other planes that were busy about the fields. They were continually
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  hopping off and landing, being fueled up with gasoline, and going up again.
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  But today it was different. His mind was on Dad and Jack,
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  and he was constantly on the lookout for their return. At last, late
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  in the afternoon, the sound of a different motor drew the attention of the
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  pilots and mechanics to a new plane coming in from the west. It circled
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  the field several times and came down to land at the far end. Wheels
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  and tail skid gently touched, and the plane rolled along with scarcely a It
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  taxied up to the hangars and was soon surrounded by an excited group curious to
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  see all the new features of this bird, which was to attempt such a
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  tremendous hop. For the word had traveled that here was a new challenger for
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  the long distance record. Here was a machine equipped with all the latest gadgets,
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  in which two experienced flyers were planning to leave New York and not touch
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  their wheels again until they arrived in far off India. Its single huge wing
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  glistened in the sunlight. The pilot and navigator's cockpit, covered with glass,
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  was just in front of this wing, and behind the huge radial engine,
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  which was even then slowly and smoothly turning the propeller. Just behind the wing.
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  In the body of the machine was a tiny window through which those who
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  were tall enough could peek in and see a small compartment behind the gas tank.
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  The two wheels of the undercarriage bore mass of balloon tires and were further
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  protected by large shock absorbers on which the weight of the plane rested. The
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  whole plane was painted a brilliant orange. Switching off the engine, Dad stepped
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  out with a happy smile. So far, so good. Then came days
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  of trying and testing. Fortunately they were favored with splendid weather for a day
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  or two. It rained during the morning, but they were able to get
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  in one or two flights before dark. They took the machine up so that
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  Jack could test his wireless a Lieutenant Conners flew over from Washington with a small
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  compact set, which he hoped would be better than the one they already had
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  in the machine. On one of the tests, it seemed as though the
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  ultimate and wireless transmission and reception had been accomplished for an airplane. The machine
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  went to two thousand feet, the wireless aerial was lowered, and Kiwi stood
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  beside Lieutenant Connors, who was manipulating the receiving set in the back of a
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  small truck. Jack and Conners tested their signals, both flying away from and
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  tore the receiving set. The dots and dashes of the code came in equally
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  strong either way. Kiwi put on the headphones to listen while Connors clicked out
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  a message to those soaring above. Jack had taught Kiwi the wireless code for
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  his name, and soon he was thrilled to hear h E L l O
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  k I w I coming down from the air. However, there were other
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  days when the set seemed not to work so well, and it took hours
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  of tinkering before all the troubles were found and adjusted. The set in the
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  plane was finally moved to a place away from the main tank and the engine.
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  Then there was the compass to be corrected. Kiwi had not realized that
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  correcting a compass was such a long operation, although Dadded told him that the
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  magnetic compass in an airplane was a very sensitive instrument. There was much iron
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  and steel in the motor and there were many conflicting forces pulling the magnetic needle
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  from its position toward the north magnetic pole. To compensate for these forces,
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  small metallic rods had to be added. So key we followed as the plane
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  was wheeled out onto a cement circular platform on the ground away from the buildings.
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  Marked on this circular platform were the north, south, east, and
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  west points pointing the plane due north. The bits of iron were placed in
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  position in the compass to counteract the attraction of the motor and other metal parts.
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  These bits of metal were about the size of the lead in a pencil
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  and were of various lengths. After they had been inserted in holes provided in
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  the base of the compass. They were secured in place. As soon as
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  the needle pointed to the north, as it should, the plane was wheeled
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  around till it pointed east, and the process was repeated until the compass had
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  been corrected for each direction. However, they knew that many times a penknife
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  or some such similar object in the pockets of a pilot would serve to throw
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  the compass off its proper direction. Knowing the particular delicate nature of compasses,
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  the skipper was very cautious about putting too much trust in them, and insisted
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  that their compasses be carefully checked. They also had an earth inductor compass,
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  which was more reliable, but which had to be adjusted by an expert from
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  the factory. The ride home from the field in the cool of the evening
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  was usually taken up with long discussions about balanced rudders and whether they did not
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  need more surface on the elevators. Later on, even the evenings, which
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  Kiwi always looked forward to, were taken up with test flights they tried ride
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  out their navigation lights and landing by flares. Many evenings, Kiwi would go
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  sound asleep in the back of the car until the voice of Jack awoke him,
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  suggesting that they rush home for their swim and supper. During all this
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  time, coax as he would, Kiwi had not been taken on his promised
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  ride. Dad had always answered, in that same hateful formula, we'll see
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  why were grown up so fond of those two words, he promised himself never
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  to use that expression when he was grown up. Kiwi had made many friends
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  around the field, the men in greasy overalls who tinkered with the engines,
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  Old Bill, who kept the lunch stand at the end of the field,
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  and who had made his name famous for having packed the sandwiches for several earlier
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  cross atlantic flights. But there was a scarcity of boys of his own age.
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  There were plenty who were older and who seem to be able to convince
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  the instructors on the field that they could learn to fly. Kiwi felt a
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  lack of the proper arguments to use. He was sure he could fly if
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  they would give him a chance, but as soon as he brought up the
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  subject, they insisted on talking down to him as if he were a child.
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  Kiwi felt that it was Old Bill at the lunch wagon who eventually got
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  him his first ride in the new plane, his father and Jack had dashed
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  down for a hurried lunch, and Old Bill said to Kiwi, well,
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  how does she handle Kiwi had blushed to the roots of his hair and admitted
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  that he did not know. Whereupon Old Bill turned to his dad and said,
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  what, you haven't taken this boy up yet, And his father had
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  answered, he'll get his ride perhaps tomorrow. That night, after considerable pestering,
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  his father gave him a definite promise that if the next day were fine,
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  he'd get that first ride of chapter one