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Updated: June 26, 2025
Vardon, as he yanked on the lever of the starting motor, and turned the switch. Only the hum of the electrical machine resulted. The gasolene motor did not "pick up," though both the gasolene and spark levers were thrown over. "Never mind," counseled Dick. "I can bring her down all right. There's really nothing more the matter than if we had purposely stopped the motor."
"Er " said Cuthbert, blushing as every eye in the room seemed to fix itself on him, "I think he means Abe Mitchell and Harry Vardon." "Abe Mitchell and Harry Vardon?" repeated Mrs. Smethurst, blankly. "I never heard of " "Yais! Yais! Most! Very!" shouted Vladimir Brusiloff, enthusiastically. "Arbmishel and Arreevadon. You know them, yes, what, no, perhaps?"
Vardon, who wanted to look over the machinery, for possible heated bearings, all went out on the railed deck. Grit, the bulldog, followed closely on the heels of Dick. "Be careful, old man," said the young millionaire to his pet. "There's no rail close to the deck, you know, and you may slip overboard." They stood for a few moments viewing the scene while thus flying along through the air.
"Only it's going to be a job to land down among all those sky-scrapers." "We can't do it," Mr. Vardon declared. "We'll have to head for an open space." "Central Park, or the Bronx," put in the lieutenant. "Either place will give us room enough." "We'll try the Bronx," suggested Dick. "That will give us a chance to see New York from aloft. We'll land in the Bronx."
Speed up, I say, and let's see if we can't get away from him." "We've got a heavier machine, and more weight aboard," spoke Dick. "Say, can't you drop us off?" cried Paul. "That would lighten you a whole lot. Let Innis and me go!" "I'll drop off, too, if it will help any," Larry Dexter offered. "And be killed?" asked Mr. Vardon. "Not necessarily.
"And we're at least going to share in the glory of it," added Innis. "Twenty thousand dollars!" murmured Uncle Ezra. "Is it possible?" "Oh, it's true enough, sir," put in Mr. Vardon. "The offer has been formally made. I know several of my aviator friends who are going to have a try for it. I intended to myself, but for the accident in which my craft was smashed.
At the finish of the thirty-six holes Vardon said, 'I never felt so fagged out in my life. In fact I could play seventy-two holes on the other side every day for a week and not have been fatigued half so much." I do not remember that I ever committed myself to such an extravagant statement as this, but the course was certainly a very trying one that day.
With a rush and a roar the Larabee passed over the Abaris as she was so suddenly turned, and then something snapped in the machinery of the big airship. She lost speed, and began to go down slightly. "Did they hit us?" cried Dick, in alarm. "No, but we've broken the sprocket chain on the port propeller," answered Mr. Vardon. "We'll have to be content with half speed until we can make repairs.
"More trouble!" cried Dick. "I guess we'll have to swim for it!" There was no doubt about it. The little craft was going down. Later it was learned that a leaky valve had allowed the air to escape, and a break in the boat's rubber sides had let in the water. "Come on!" cried Dick. "Overboard, Mr. Vardon!"
The propellers, as I have said, could be reached from the open deck, and thither Mr. Vardon, Dick, and Lieutenant McBride took themselves, while Paul, Innis and Larry would look after the progress of the craft from the pilot-house and motor-room. Slowly Dick's airship went along, just enough speed being maintained to prevent her settling.
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