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Updated: June 5, 2025
"We're falling!" cried Innis, from the pilot-house, as he noted the height gage, and saw that the hand was constantly receding. "We're falling, Dick!" "I know it no help for it," answered our hero, hopelessly. The Abaris was certainly going down.
That doorway isn't any too wide." "No. We'll have to cut some off, I guess!" "Say, it's big; isn't it?" These were the comments of Dick Hamilton and his chums as the fine, new airship, the Abaris, was wheeled out of the shed where it had been constructed. And certainly the young millionaire might be proud of his newest possession. Mr. Vardon and his men had labored well on the aeroplane.
Already the apparatus to which was contrasted Lieutenant Larson's mercury tubes, had acted, and the Abaris, which had dipped, when all the passengers collected on one side, had now resumed her level keel again, showing that the gyroscope had worked so far at any rate. "Now we'll give her a trial," called Mr. Vardon. "All ready, come over on the run, and throw her around, Dick!"
The big motor had been successfully tested, and had developed even more power than had been expected. The propellers delivered a greater thrust on the air than was actually required to send the Abaris along. "We'll have that for emergencies," said Dick. "Such as getting about in a hurricane, and the like." "I hope we don't get into anything like that," remarked Mr.
For a time no one wanted to go to the comfortable bunks, but Dick insisted that they must get used to sleeping aboard his craft, so the watch was told off, two of the occupants of the Abaris to be on duty for two hours at a time, to be relieved by others. On and on rushed the airship.
And, as it happened, he came down in New York, in the midst of the Bronx Park buffalo range. It was a perfect landing, the Abaris reaching the ground with scarcely a jar. But the big, shaggy buffaloes snorted in terror, and ran in all directions. That is, all but one big bull, and he, with a bellow of rage, charged straight for the airship! "Look out for him!" "Go up in the air again!"
He, too, sent his craft down, but just when a collision seemed about to take place, it was prevented by Mr. Vardon, who was a more skillful pilot. The propellers of the Abaris worked independently, on a sort of differential gear, like the rear wheels of an automobile.
But it still remained to be seen whether he had triumphed over other, and possibly previous, arrivals. Out of the Abaris rushed the young millionaire and his friends before she had ceased rolling over the ground. The other biplane was just behind them. An army officer ran out of the crowd of spectators. "Who is the pilot of this craft?" he asked. "I am," answered Dick.
He pulled the lever that closed the muffler, thus cutting down, in a great measure, the throb of the motor. Then, with a look at his chums, he threw in the clutch. The great propellers began to revolve, and soon were flying around on their axles with the swiftness of light. Slowly the Abaris moved forward along the ground. "We're off!" cried Paul, excitedly. "Not quite yet," answered Dick.
He turned the switch of the electric starter, and, an instant later, the Abaris shot forward over the ground, rising gracefully on a long, upward slant. Then Dick, who was at the steering wheel, headed his craft due West. From the parade ground below them came cheers from the army men and other spectators, the shrill cries of the three girls mingling.
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