Читать книгу The Boy Scouts and the Army Airship - John Henry Goldfrap - Страница 7

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“A motor-scooter!” echoed Rob.

“That’s right, Rob, and she’s a Jim Dandy, too!” exclaimed Merritt enthusiastically.

“She’ll eat up space,” volunteered Tubby.

“Always on the eating tack,” laughed Paul.

“Better than being full of them,” remarked the fat boy, dreamily gazing up into the black shadows of the wagon shed roof.

“Say, Paul,” asked Rob interestedly, “would you mind telling me what is a motor-scooter. It looks fine,” he added encouragingly.

“A motor-scooter,” exclaimed Paul, “is a sled driven by an auto engine and propelled by an aeroplane propeller over the frozen surface.”

“That sounds fine,” chuckled Merritt; “bet you cribbed it out of a book.”

Paul Perkins, paying no attention, went on to explain to Rob the points of the strange craft. He had constructed it ingeniously from parts of an old, broken-down auto left behind by a summer resident. The engine part of the affair rested on a framework of two-by-four timbers, and to the flywheel of the motor had been fitted a pulley connected with a shaft mounted above it, on one end of which was affixed a six-foot aeroplane propeller.

Behind the engine came a seat for the driver, and another beside it for a passenger. Gasoline was carried in a ten-gallon tank placed forward of, and above the motor, while the cooling was effected by means of a fan geared to the forward part of the machinery. Below the framework came the runners on which the odd craft was expected to glide over the ice. These were formed of old wagon timbers, along which strips of iron, constructed from barrel binders, had been nailed.

Such was Paul Perkins’ wonderful motor-scooter. Rob, after an inspection of the clever way in which it was put together, could not help admiring the ingenuity of the young constructor. He knew that Paul was not a rich boy, and that it must have cost him a lot of time and labor to carry out his idea without funds to buy expensive tools or appliances.

“Merritt’s father let me use the forge at night,” explained Paul, “and in that way Merritt came to be the first to know about it. I told him during last summer.”

“And he kept your secret, too,” laughed Rob. “But why didn’t you tell any one else?”

“I was afraid that it mightn’t work.”

“Well, will it?”

“Watch.”

Paul clambered into the driver’s seat and threw in a small switch. Then he turned on the gasoline and adjusted the carburetor.

“Look out!” he shouted.

As he spoke, he turned a crank which he had geared to a toothed wheel on the shaft. The engine turned over once or twice, and only a sort of low sigh resulted. Suddenly there came a sharp sound, like twin explosions.

Chug-chug!

“Hooray, she’s off!” shouted Tubby.

Faster and faster the engine began to revolve, the smoke from its exhausts filling the place with smothering vapor. Through the blue haze, they could see the aeroplane propeller threshing round at terrific speed. The frame of the novel craft quivered, as if anxious to move off. But, of course, it could not. The motor-scooter was built for traveling only upon the ice.

“How did you ever come to think of it?” asked Rob, as Paul shut off the engine and climbed out of his seat.

“Why, it was last winter,” explained Paul, “you remember the inlet was frozen, and we had iceboat races on it? Well, I was watching them, and thinking why it wouldn’t be possible to make an ice motor-boat. First off, I couldn’t see how to do it. I figured around, however, and at last I thought out a way. But I didn’t have money enough to buy a motor, so I gave up the idea. Then Higgins’ auto blew up and took fire. He was disgusted, and when I offered him a small price for the engine he was delighted. He wouldn’t take anything for it, in fact. He figured that the fire had spoiled it. So it had, pretty well, but I fixed it up—and—well, there she is, and what do you think of her?”

“Think?” exclaimed Rob. “I think she is a Jim Dandy, just as Merritt said. But, Paul, will she run on the ice?”

“Don’t see why not. The propeller has tremendous driving power. I wish it would hurry up and freeze, I’m dying to try her out.”

“I’ll bet you are. It will be a long time yet to frost, though. In the meantime, what do you say to taking a little trip out to-morrow afternoon to the old De Regny place? It will make a good walk.”

“What on earth do you want to go out there for?” asked Tubby in a surprised tone.

“I have a reason,” rejoined Rob. “I’ll tell you about it to-morrow. Do you fellows want to go?”

“Of course, but you’re mighty mysterious about it,” grumbled Merritt.

“Hush! Maybe he’s found a corned beef mine!” exclaimed Tubby in a low, cautious voice.

“A corned beef mine? Why, I never heard of such a thing,” exclaimed Paul seriously.

“Didst not, little one?” chirped Tubby. “My uncle found one in northern Montana.”

“In northern Montana!”

“Yes, sir,” went on Tubby, winking at the others, “it’s an interesting thing to a fellow like you, Paul, who is fond of scientific research and—and all that sort of thing. Shall I tell you how it occurred?”

“Please do,” begged Paul, sitting down on the edge of his invention and composing himself comfortably.

“Well,” began Tubby, with the air of one who has deliberated long and seriously over a matter, “it was this way. One fall my uncle, who had been mining all summer, figured it was about time to get out of those northern Montana mountains. He decided, though, before he left, to put in the biggest blast ever heard of, so that when he came back in the spring he could have plenty of rock to work. In due course, he set the blast off, and discovered, to his astonishment, that the explosion had uncovered a regular cliff of reddish-brown substance, interveined with what looked like the finest jelly.”

“You don’t tell me.”

“But I do tell you. Well, uncle was considerably puzzled. He had never struck anything like that before. All at once, glancing down, he saw his dog was advancing to the cliff. Presently, the creature seized a fragment that had been blasted to some distance, and began devouring it. Imagine my uncle’s astonishment to find that the cliff seemingly was edible. He investigated, and found that his blast had miraculously uncovered a deposit of unknown extent of the very finest kind of corned beef.”

“Didn’t he find a ketchup well or a mustard spring close by?” asked Merritt seriously.

Tubby shook his head.

“No; uncle was a very truthful man. If he had found anything like that, he’d have mentioned it. But he didn’t.”

“But the explanation,” urged the scientific-minded Paul, “how did he ever account for it?”

“Why, an inquiry showed that years before there had been an earthquake there, and a band of cattle had been swallowed up, and it so happened that they were immersed in a salt mine. Thus, a very fine stratum of corned beef was formed, which only awaited my uncle’s coming to be given to a grateful public.”

“You say that this all happened to your uncle?” asked Paul somewhat suspiciously.

“Yes, sure, to my uncle in Montana.”

“Really happened to him?” insisted Paul, who had detected a suspicious quiver on Tubby’s lips.

“Yes, indeed. It happened to him just before he fell out of bed.”

A shout of laughter went up then, echoing and ringing among the rafters. Paul good-naturedly joined in it, though the merriment was at his own expense, but his laughter was suddenly checked. There was a small window in one side of the place, and, peering through this aperture, Paul had just detected a face. It was a countenance that was familiar to him, and seemed to be taking the utmost interest in the details of his invention.