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Kiwi Gets His Wings · The Non-Stop Stowaway

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Chapter ten 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, Kiwi gets his wings. As Kiwi, Armbuster and the
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skipper moved over to where the quirk sat, they were followed by the entire
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group who were interested in this novel experiment. Armbruster helped Kiwi into the front
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seat, and then they discovered that his legs were too short to reach the
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rudder bar. A shout was sent up for more cushions. When two of
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them had been wedged in behind the boy's back, he could work the rudder
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very easily. His helmet and goggles were adjusted and the belt holding him in
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his seat snapped in place. Then Armbruster attached the telephones so that he could
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speak to Kiwi up in the air, and swung himself into the rear seat.
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The engine was started. As they left the group of onlookers. There
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were shouts of encouragement, and Jack, who had just come over, called
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above the noise of the engine. Kiwi don't loop him the first time,
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will you, Kiwi? Grinned self consciously. They trundled some distance out on
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the field and turned into the wind. Then, with the propeller just ticking
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over, armbrusters said, now, Kiwi, I'm going to teach you to
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fly, very much as I taught your dad long ago. No harm can
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come to you here in learning to fly. But I know you would like
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to be just such a pilot as your dad is, and so I am
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going to teach you as he was taught, how to overcome the dangers which
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follows stalling a plane in the air, and what you must do if the
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engine stops suddenly. I'll take the plane off the ground with my set of
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controls, and after we get well up in the air, I'll let you
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fly it so straight with your stick and rudder for a while. You know
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how it feels to be up. You know how the rudder works, that
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it swings the plane from side to side. You know that the joystick in
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your hand, moved sideways keeps your wings balanced. Moved forward sends you down.
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Pulled backward pulls the nose of the plane up. Now take your feet
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off the rudder and let me see both hands outside until I tell you to
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take over control. Ki We did as he was told. Once in the
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air, Armbruster could not resist stunting the plane about over the heads of their
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audience. Kiwi was treated to an exhibition in flying such as he had never
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experienced before. The plane dived toward the group below, swished up in climbing
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turns, swung dizzily off on one wing, and as the wire's whistled,
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pulled sharply around and recovered its poised ki We had difficulty keeping his sense of
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balance or a clear idea of what the plane was doing. After several minutes
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of such antics, they flew straight and wiggling the stick violently. Armbruster told
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Kiwi through the phones that he might fly it. First of all, he
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said, just keep the plane straight, keep the nose on the horizon,
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pick some point on it, and fly toward it. Kiwi felt elated that
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at last he was actually controlling a plane. He couldn't resist pushing the rudder
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slightly with his foot to see what effect it would have. It startled him
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to find that the slightest pressure sent the nose of the plane skidding sideways.
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He hurriedly tried to correct this with the other foot, and discovered that he
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was overdoing it and that they were sea sawing back and forth in a crazy
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fashion. The voice of Armbruster came through the phones. They are, Kiwi,
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not too much rudder. Rudders are dangerous things. They have caused a
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good share of all the accidents. Kiwi had the feeling that Armbruster had hastily
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corrected his errors, and he gained new respect for the art of flying.
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Armbruster's reassuring voice told him to try again. This time, they sailed along
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very calmly, the nose on one spot on the horizon seen through the glittering
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whirl of the propeller. Again came Armbruster's voice. Your left wing is low,
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Kiwi, pull it up slightly with your stick. Here was another thing
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for him to watch out for. At the end of a quarter of an
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hour, they had gone a long distance from their friends, and Armbruster said,
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I'll turn the plane around and then we'll fly back. As Kiwi felt
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his instructor take over the controls, he let them go and the plane swung
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around in a small arc. Then the voice came, now, Kiwi,
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take me home. On the way, Kiwi practiced again, only once getting
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into difficulties when he got the plane into that alarming zigzagging. They made several
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trips to distant points and back again. Then armbrush mister said, we'll land
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now and take a rest, and Kiwi confessed to himself that a rest from
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this concentration would be most welcome. As they landed and taxied up to the
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group, several called out to know how the pupil was making out. Kiwi
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was elated to hear Armbrusters say, the boy is good. A little heavy
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on the controls, but we'll have him flying in no time. Dad grinned
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at him as he climbed from his seat and gave him an approving pat as
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he came over to where Dad and Jack were standing with Thorn. After a
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few minutes rest and his instructor had had a smoke, they went up again.
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Kiwi practiced once more on this simple business of keeping the plane straight and
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on an even keel. Then Armbruster's voice came, We'll try a turn,
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A turn to the right. That's an easy one. Now, keeping your
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hands and feet lightly on the controls. You feel what they do while I
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make this gradual, and while he was doing it, Armbruster repeated several times,
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a little bit of a bank and a little bit of rudder round she
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goes. Now you try it. Pull the stick slowly over to the right
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to your wings, bank up. Then when you have enough bank, pull
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the stick back to the center, and at the same time push your rudder
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slightly to the right. The planes swung around dizzily. Armbruster's voice came through
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the phones. Ah, you used a little too much rudder. It's skidded
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that time. Now we'll try another one. This time, Kiwi's combination of
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bank and rudder were more nearly right, and the plane turned in a more
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normal fashion. They flew straight for a while, and then tried another turn
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to the right. Armbruster now said, we'll try one to the left.
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That's harder because the torque of the propeller tends to pull the plane around to
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the left if you give it half a chance. So this time you need
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less pressure on the left rudder than you had before on the right. Kiwi's
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first try was not so bad, but a later one pulled the plane around
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with a terrific snap, and it commenced to do things that were beyond Kiwi's
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understanding. He felt Armbruster's hand on the controls as he rescued him from this
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predicament, and the old sing song came to him. Now, a little
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bit of bank, a little bit of rudder, round she goes. This
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flight lasted much longer than the other, and before they had landed, Kiwi
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was beginning to make smooth and graceful turns in either direction. During one of
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these later turns, Kiwi was much startled as his engine stopped in the middle
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of one of them, and they seemed to be in difficulties. Then he
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noticed that Armbruster had throttled back the engine, and his clear voice came to
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Kiwi's, saying, I just wanted you to know what would happen if the
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engine suddenly stopped in the midst of one of your turns. You must quickly
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put on more bank and more rudder. If you don't do this time,
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you'll find the plane out of control. Try a few more turns, and
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I'll stop the motor in some of them and you correct for it. After
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a few more minutes of such practice, they landed and rejoined the others.
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Kiwi was bubbling over with the excitement of what he had learned, and he
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had a thousand questions to ask. Both Dad and Armbruster about his experiences.
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They talked it all over and tried to tell him what he must do in
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each emergency. If the engine stopped unexpectedly when flying straight, he must instinctively
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push the stick forward, keep the nose down, and keep his flying speed.
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If it stopped during a turn, he must rudder into the turn and
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keep his flying speed. Always he must do these things instinctively when the motor
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failed, Dad and Armbruster and Jack all had stories to tell of some spectacular
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experience when motors failed at crucial moments in the air. When in the air,
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the pilot's ear is attuned to the steady beat of the motor and he
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listens for its first missing stroke. Another young flier had joined the group and
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was listening interestedly to the talk about failing motors. During a lull in the
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conversation, he said, failing motors in the air are often bad enough,
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I grant you, But during the war, a failing motor on solid ground
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turned out to be much more tragic for me. I had just returned to
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my squadron from a two week stay in England and was talking to old friends
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and getting accustomed to the new faces in the mess. The other pilots were
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admiring the new outfit I had bought, shiny new field boots that I had
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made at that little shop in Oxford opposite Exeter College. My whipcord breeches that
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were the pride of a maker on the Haymarket in London, while my tunic
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came from Regent Street, when an orderly came up and handed me a slip
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of paper. It requested me to report to the major at once. I
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hurried over to the squadron office to my commanding officer. He looked up when
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I entered and said, I know you are just back from leave and may
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not have your bearings yet, but the people at the wing headquarters have just
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given me a job which is in your special line. You have done it
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so many times before that you should have no trouble this time. We have
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another spy to land back of the lines tonight, and since gather Good is
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gone, you are the only man I have who can do the job.
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Here on this map is a location where you must land this fellow, and
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he'll be here ready to start with you at eleven thirty, I'll have the
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Sergeant Major get a good machine in readiness for you. There was nothing for
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me to do but accept this doubtful honor. Landing spies back of the lines
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was no child's play. As you know, if caught your uniform was no
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protection, you too were classed as a spy and met a spy's fate.
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However, as it was only nine point thirty, I went back to the
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mess and had a rubber of bridge before word came that my spy had arrived.
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I hurried over to the hangar, and as it was a warm night,
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did not stop for a flying suit. I wrapped a muffler around my
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neck, slipped into my helmet and goggles, and climbed into the machine,
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which the mechanics had already with the motor started. My passenger was already in
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the rear seat. I had no time to talk to him. He gave
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me a jaunty little wave with his hand and then slipped down low in the
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cockpit, out of the way of the wind from the propeller. He looked
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like any middle aged French peasant that one might meet on the road. Almost
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automatically, I texted down the field and took off. As I came across
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the hangars and swung over toward the direction of the lines, I saw that
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the lights and the hangers were being switched off, and knew that all would
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be darkness there until it was time for my return. The motor hummed sweetly,
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and I began looking for landmarks. There was no moon, and the
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earth was a black smudge beneath me. I crossed the lines at a great
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height and could just discern the List River as a dim streak in the inky
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blackness. There were a few star shells coming up from the direction of the
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lines, and here and there an occasional flash of artillery fire. It was
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a quiet night in this particular sector. A few miles to one side,
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two searchlights were groping aimlessly across the sky. All seemed serene and peaceful.
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Up aloft, shutting off my motor so that the propeller was just slowly turning
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over, I started on a long glide through the darkness. Leaning over the
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side, I tried to pick up the little village that was to be my
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brief stopping place. Lower and lower, we slipped through the still air for
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a few moments. I was a little confused, but upon switching on the
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light on my instrument board and consulting my map, I located a particular road
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that led through a large forest. By this time my spy was also leaning
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far over the side, and as we came lower, he pointed out the
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field we must land in. It crossed my mind, as we were getting
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low over the trees that I should have opened up the engine for a few
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seconds to keep it warm. A long dive such as we had just made
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was apt to cool it to the point where it might not pick up again
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when I needed it. But there was no time for that now we were
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too low, and the noise of it might arouse troops that happened to be
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in the vicinity side slipping into the field, I straightened out just in time,
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and we came to a stop beside a fringe of trees. My passenger
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lost no time in getting out. He was just clambering over the side with
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a parting au revow. When the motor and my heartbeat stopped at the same
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time. I explained to him rapidly in a low voice that he must turn
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the propeller over for me to start the motor again. He was willing enough,
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but unaccustomed to such work, and he was not able to swing the
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propeller hard enough to do the trick. Unhooking my belt, I jumped out.
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I had tried twice to turn it over. When we heard the pounding
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thought of heavy boots on the road. It meant that we were discovered.
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Evidently, soldiers in the neighborhood had heard the sing of the wires. As
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we glided into the field, the spy said, be quick, or they'll
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stop you, swinging frantically on the propeller. I tried twice again, but
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the engine refused to start. We could hear the crashing of underbrush as they
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approached, and without more ado, the spy touched my arm and said,
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follow me. We darted into thick woods and then through a clearing just as
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our pursuers discovered the plane. They must have halted to examine it, and
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thus gave us time to cover a lot more ground. The spy seemed familiar
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with the territory, for he swung into a path through the forest which led
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to another road. We could hear the searching party floundering about in the woods,
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but they did not seem to know which direction we had taken. Cautiously
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following the road, we kept well in the shadows and came at last to
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his stone farmhouse, surrounded by a wall. The spy motioned me into the
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darkness of a doorway and told me to wait. He rapped cautiously at the
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gate with a peculiar knock, and some time later a man's voice answered him.
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The two men held a long consultation, and, with many gestures,
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seemed to be pointing out a direction. Then the spy came back to me
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and explained briefly that it was too dangerous to stay there, it was too
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close to where the plane had landed, and that we must make our way
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to a certain house about three miles farther on. Then began a nerve racking
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walk through roads and lanes. At one place we made a wide detour to
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avoid going through a town. If only I had worn my flying suit,
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it would have covered my uniform and made it a little more difficult for the
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ants passerby to recognize me as an enemy. At last we came within sight
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of the farmhouse which was to be my home. I was left in the
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shadow of a wayside shrine while the spy went ahead to make preparations for my
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reception. He came back in a few minutes with word that the coast was
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clear. I was taken into the white kitchen and introduced to the Belgian peasant
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and his wife and their son. He was about Kiwi size and regarded me
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shyly. They talked together for a long while in what I took to be
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Flemish, apparently trying to decide how best to conceal me. The peasant and
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his wife seemed apprehensive, and the spy informed me that they were fearful that
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at any moment the Germans might come to search the house. A peasant outfit
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such as the farmer war was given me. I discarded my uniform and field
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boots and slipped my feet into heavy wooden shoes such as they wore. Another
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copulation took place, and a decision was finally reached. My precious uniform was
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to be destroyed, and as I sat sadly before the fireplace, my boots
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breeches tunic one after the other went up in flames. For only two days
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had I swanked about in them, and now they were gone. Realizing that
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I could speak nothing but English, which was entirely unsuited to my present role.
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They pondered a long time on how to overcome this difficulty. The spy,
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who must have been quick witted or he never could have succeeded as profession,
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solved it by painting the lower half of my face with iodine and binding
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it up with dirty cloths. He explained to me that if the house should
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be searched and I should be questioned, I was to indicate to the Germans
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that I had an accident to my jaw and was unable to speak. There
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were several narrow escapes for me during the weeks that followed. The spy left
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just before dawn with the comfort word that he would be back for me in
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a few days time and conduct me through the lines. The days dragged into
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weeks, the weeks, and two months, and still I stayed on this
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little farmhouse and watched our fellows flying overhead, ceaselessly bombing an innocent patch of
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woods which they probably thought contained an ammunition dump. Eventually I got through the
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lines and back home and was able to set them right about that harmless strip
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of woods. But you can easily understand why I feel so strongly about engines
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failing even on the ground. The whole crowd laughed at the mournful face of
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the young fellow who had just told the story. He looked as though he
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were living over again the loss of his precious new uniform. During this recital,
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Kiwi had been stretched out on his back, gazing up at the cloud
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flecked blue sky above him. A pilot in a very old type of plane
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had been doing the most spectacular flying just over his head during the whole story.
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He was dressed in ordinary clothes, had no helmet, but flew with
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the peak cap worn backward. Diving vertically. He pulled out just over their
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heads, grinning at them as he did so. Then he climbed straight up
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until he was a tiny speck in the blue and repeated his hair raising dive.
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Kiwi marveled at his performance. Never had he seen a plane stay in
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a vertical dive so long and come out of it unharmed. And this flyer
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seemed to get so much satisfaction from the maneuver, and repeated it so many
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times that Kiwi finally inquired who he was. Thorn told him that the pilot
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was one of the best of the early American flyers who had been well known
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for this particular maneuver, and even here he was famous for it. They
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watched him as he at last tired of flying and came down to rest on
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a solid looking cloud above their heads. He got out of his machine,
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waved to those far below, and stretch out on the soft surface of the
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clouds for a nap. Back home. This would have astonished Kiwi, but
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here he was becoming accustomed to such things and did not consider it at all
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queer. Here he was seeing all sorts of strange things that interested him but
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had ceased to bewilder him. Later on he was to see workshops everywhere in
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which inventors were puzzling and studying over machines that in the other world they had
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no time to develop. One young fellow provided a great deal of quiet amusement
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for the others by exhibiting a large bump on the back of his head,
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which he proudly said was developing into a third eye. Thorne explained to Kiwi
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that here was another of those warflyers who had been struck with the idea during
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the war that an additional eye in the back of one's head was absolutely necessary
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for a flyer, that he had concentrated all his thought upon it, and
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that here he fell, he would surely grow one. Kiwi now became restless
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and got up to stretch his legs. Armbruster rose to and said, Kiwi,
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let's get on with the flying. They strolled over to their old plane,
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which, though somewhat battered, still bore the number on the tail that
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the skipper remembered so well, a forty eight twelve. Now this time,
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Kiwi, Armbrusters said, as they resumed their seats, I am going to
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let you take the plane off the ground. Remember open the throttle slowly till
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the engine is running smoothly. Then as the plane gathers headway, push the
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stick forward till the tail is off the ground. As it rolls along,
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gather speed, pull the stick back ever so little. If the plane doesn't
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rise, don't force it, but wait till it seems to pick itself off
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the ground. Keep a sharp look ahead and be sure and fly straight.
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Don't let it swerve. Then he added, all right, let her go.
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Kiwi did has he was directed, but was warned a few seconds later,
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don't get the tail too high. And as they were speeding over the
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ground. A little back pressure on the stick came through the phones, and
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then the planes started to rise. Kiwi's eyes were glued on the horizon and
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he concentrated on keeping the plane in a straight line until the voice told him
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it was time to turn. He swung cautiously around to the right and was
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pleased to hear Armbruster's voice telling him that's fine. They practiced turns to the
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right and turns to the left, and Armbruster landed the plane two or three
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times so that Kiwi could take it off and master that particular lesson. They
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finally landed for it was getting dark early the next day. Armbruster said,
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now we'll start on the landings. I'll pick out a certain spot for you
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to land on, and you must judge your distance just right. Throttle back
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the motor and glide down. Be sure and keep the nose down so that
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your flying speed doesn't register below fifty five miles an hour. Then, as
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you see the ground approaching, pull back slightly on the stick until you were
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flying on a level with the surface and just a few inches above it.
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It takes a lot of practice to judge this distance just right. You will
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find it's easier if you look over one side or the other of your cockpit,
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whichever is more natural for you. Do it that way. Then,
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as you were gliding a long level and just as you feel the plane start
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to sink, pull the stick back in your tummy and you'll land all right.
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Kiwi took the plane off and did a few wide turns to the right
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and to the left until he realized he was performing big figurates in the air.
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Then Armbuster said there and pointed to a spot on which they should land.
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Kiwi's first try at throttling back was too soon. He felt his instructor
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pushed the throttle forward again, but his neck try seemed right, and he
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glided down to make a landing. He watched fascinated as they drew closer to
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the ground, flattened out too soon, and discovered that they were flying level
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at least twelve feet off the surface. Armbruster put the engine on. They
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climbed up and came back and tried again. This time, Kiwi judged his
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distance better. They glided in, bounced a bit, but came to a
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stop with no damage done. Again, and again, this was repeated until
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Kiwi had learned to gauge the distance perfectly. Stopping in the middle of the
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field, Armbruster called to him that now they would change places. Kiwi knew
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this meant that Armbruster trusted him. He took his cushions and moved into the
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rear cockpit. They took off again. He made several landings from the back
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seat, and then his instructor said, there's a few more tricks you've got
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to learn, Kiwi. I'm I'm going to take you up and put you
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in a tailspin, and you must get out of it before going up again.
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His instructor explained to him that all his turns up to this point had
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been gradual ones in which the control surfaces acted in a normal manner. To
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make a sharp turn, Armbruster further explained, it is necessary to increase the
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bank to keep the plane from skidding out sideways and banking sharply. Where the
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wings tip up until they are vertical, the action of the elevator and the
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rudder is reversed. That is, you now must use your elevator as a
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rudder and your rudder as an elevator. You must get this firmly fixed in
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your mind, Keiwi. For it is very important if you don't. When
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you come to make a vertical turn and find the nose dropping, you will
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instinctively pull back the stick, which, in the vertical position of the plane
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will not lift the nose for now. The elevator acting as a rudder only
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makes your turn sharper and the nose will can continue to drop. To correct
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this, you must lift the nose with the rudder. Are you sure you
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understand this? Kiwi. Starting to make a turn, you put on a
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little bit of bank and a little bit of rudder. As you put on
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more bank and the wings approach the vertical the stick is returned to neutral and
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you reverse the rudder to keep the nose level, gradually pulling the stick back
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to keep you in the turn. That's the way to make a vertical turn.
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Now, if you do this wrong and the nose drops and the plane
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starts to spin toward the earth, shut off the engine. Put your stick
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and your rudder neutral, and immediately when they are neutral, press the stick
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forward so that you will get into a straight dive. The plane will then
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be behaving normally and can be pulled out of the dive in the usual fashion
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by pulling back gently on the stick and at the same time putting on the
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engine. After this explanation, they went up very high to practice vertical turns.
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There were many other planes much higher than they, and Armbruster called out,
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Kiwi, do you see that little group of tiny specks to the right.
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That's a crowd who are going off on a sightseeing tour to some other
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planet. Next time they go, we'll go with them, for it's lots
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of fun. You fly on and on through space, and the air turns
27:22
blue and lavender and finally a clear yellowish white. As you approach the other
27:27
worlds, the pull of gravity gets less and less, until you feel as
27:32
light as a feather, and your plane is rocked this way and that by
27:36
the whirling eddies of air. But now, Kiwi, we must get on
27:41
with our flying practice. Time after time, Kiwi got into spins whenever armbrusters
27:45
instructions as to the urns were not properly followed. But it was not long
27:52
until he had become accustomed to the actions of the plane in a tail spin,
27:56
and as they were still very high, he was able to pull them
28:00
out. Armbruster now felt that he had taught Kiwi enough of the art of
28:03
flying for him to fly alone and to feel perfectly confident. They had flown
28:07
at times when the air was very bumpy, and although at first it had
28:11
frightened Kiwi somewhat, he had soon learned to correct for the bumps automatically.
28:18
Armbruster knew that after a little practice, he could teach Kiwi to loop,
28:22
which was only a matter of diving the plane until it had attained speed enough
28:26
to carry itself over the top of the loop. He knew that Kiwi would
28:30
soon learn to keep enough rudder on to prevent him from falling out of the
28:36
loop sideways. All the other forms of acrobatics could only be learned by practice
28:41
after the fundamental things had been thoroughly mastered. As they landed, Armbruster said,
28:47
TAXI the plane end, Kiwi, and we'll see if Dad will give
28:51
you a final test before I send you off solo, rejoining the group who
28:55
had been watching them. Kiwi's face was wreathed in smiles. Armbruster called out
29:00
to the skipper, how about testing this pupil for me? Captain Dad shook
29:06
his head as he said, I'd rather someone else did. Let Jack take
29:10
him and give the final word. So Jack put on his helmet and goggles,
29:15
climbed into the front seat, and called back to Kiwi, all right,
29:18
take me up for a ride. Kiwi took the plane off beautifully,
29:25
circled both to the right and to the left, put the plane into the
29:29
spin, and recovered from it, and amply proved to Jack that he was
29:33
fit to go up alone. As they came down, Jack called to him,
29:37
you'll do, Kiwi, Armbruster has done another good job. As the
29:42
plane drew up to where Dad and Armbruster were standing, Jack stopped the motor
29:48
and said to Kiwi, as soon as the air gets a little quieter,
29:52
I should think you could take it up alone here. Armbruster cut in,
29:56
don't you think the boy does very well for the few lets since he's had,
30:00
and Jack agreed with him. While other planes overhead swooped and turned against
30:06
the blue sky, they gave Kiwi his final instruction. Armbruster told him to
30:11
take off, go at least five hundred feet before he made any turn,
30:15
fly around until he felt perfectly comfortable, and then to shut off his motor
30:19
and make his landing. That he ought to make at least five landings before
30:25
they could pass on him as a finished pilot. Then Dad said, and
30:30
don't forget Kiwi. Don't fly away and leave us for we want you back
30:34
here. I'm ready to fly now, replied Kiwi, very excited. Is
30:40
it all right dad? Permission was given, the engine was started, Kiwi's
30:45
cushions were padded into place, and his belt buckled. Armbruster called out cheerily,
30:51
don't forget my instructions, Kiwi, and you'll show them. As Kiwi
30:56
taxied off by himself, the little group cheered him come on. Reaching the
31:00
middle of the field, he turned into the wind and found a second in
31:04
which to wave to those who were watching him. Then, without waiting further,
31:10
he pushed forward the throttle and his first solo flight was on. Cautiously
31:15
but perfectly, Kiwi took the plane off the ground. He felt a tremendous
31:19
elation as he found himself alone in the air, at last, in full
31:25
command of of plane. Now no one was helping him. This bird of
31:29
wood and fabric and metal was his to command. While Kiwi had been learning
31:33
to fly, he had been watching the birds, which were present in great
31:37
numbers, do their flying. Particularly, he had noticed some large black birds
31:44
not unlike crows wheeling and circling and coming to land amidst the gusty air close
31:51
to the surface. They always swung around into the wind when landing, and
31:55
one of them, his mind no doubt preoccupied by other matters, had flattened
32:00
out too high up and came down on his feet with quite a bump,
32:05
and looked as startled as Kiwi might have looked in a similar circumstance. The
32:08
little group on the ground saw Kiwi soar into the air, and each lived
32:14
again his own first solo. They forgot for the time being that no harm
32:17
could come to him, and hardly a word was spoken as they watched with
32:22
bated breath while the plane circled and turned. As Kiwi tried out his skill.
32:28
No one in that group could help him. Now he was on his
32:30
own. Then Kiwi decided that the time had come for him to attempt his
32:36
first landing unaided. He throttled back his motor to make the attempt. Now
32:40
was the test. No strain ever quite equals that of a pupil's first landing.
32:46
No matter who the pupil is, everyone within sight or hearing pauses tents
32:52
until it is over. The group stared fascinated as young Kiwi glided down,
32:58
flattened out a few inches above the surface, and settled down to a perfect
33:04
three point landing. Kiwi had done it. A shout went up and they
33:07
pounded the skipper on the back as he watched, almost unbelievingly, Kiwi was
33:13
a pilot. He had mounted into the air alone, had mastered the air,
33:17
and had landed beautifully. He was now one of them, a flyer
33:22
in his own right, a pilot in that quiet kingdom. He made several
33:27
more landings, and then as he taxied back to the group, Armbruster said,
33:31
the name Kiwi doesn't fit him now, but it will probably stick to
33:36
him forever. It was not long before Dad and Jack and Kiwi became accustomed
33:42
to this carefree life and made many excursions off into the upper air in the
33:46
Dauntless. The Moon had always had a great fascination for Kiwi, and on
33:52
one flight with Armbruster and some of the others, they soared up to it
33:55
and landed on its barren surface. They climbed in and out of the deep
34:00
hollows of its dead volcanoes. They explored its caves and the rocky beds of
34:06
its dried up rivers. They went on numerous excursions to other planets, where
34:10
sometimes they landed and exchanged experiences with the strange inhabitants. The flyers were looked
34:16
upon as strange adventurers, for on none of these other planets had the art
34:22
of flying been developed. But always as they floated down like a bit of
34:27
fluff to their own kingdom, they were happy to be among their own kind,
34:31
and Kiwi began to feel that his place with them was now assured that
34:37
he was one of them, a pilot with wings at Kiwi in name only
34:44
the end editor's note. For many weeks the newspapers in and about New York
34:52
and in the Middle West carried an advertisement and request for information. It had
34:57
been inserted by order of the captain on one of the big Transatlantic liners.
35:04
He was holding in trust a silver cigarette case which he wished to restore to
35:08
the friends or relatives of Captain Malcolm McBride, skipper of the plane Dauntless,
35:15
which had completely disappeared while on a NonStop flight from New York to India.
35:22
End of chapter ten, end of The NonStop Stowaway by Clayton Knight