Читать книгу The Flight of the Silver Ship - Margaret Alison Johansen - Страница 7

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David found the trip to Ayre tedious; the hours dragged interminably. His first night was sleepless, and he went into the dining-car for breakfast rather late. He slipped into an empty seat at one of the small tables for two. He found himself seated across from a thin, dark young man a little older than himself. His pleasant good-morning was returned by a mumbled greeting as the stranger glanced up, then hurriedly transferred his attention to his food. He ate importantly, seeming to put a vast amount of ceremony into the homely order of bacon and eggs before him.

David ordered breakfast, and commenced to study his time-table. When he laid it down, the stranger leaned across and remarked, “I meant to get a time-table and forgot it. May I see yours?”

David handed it over with a pleasant word. The stranger, swaying to the motion of the fast train, opened the folder. David had marked stops and changes, and had drawn a black line around Ayre. The chap looked up, and caught David’s eye.

“Ayre your destination?” he asked, and at David’s nod he continued, “That’s where I am going, too. My name is Cram—Walter Cram.”

“My name is Ellison,” said David, “Glad to meet you.”

“Ellison,” said Walter Cram. “Not a very—well, I don’t know any Ellison, myself. Never heard the name but once. I’ve got a book, ‘Great Pilots of the World War.’ There is a pilot in that book named Ellison. A great chap; absolutely fearless; did the most amazing things. His career reads like a fairy story. You ought to get that book and read about him. It would interest you on account of the coincidence of the name.”

“I expect it would,” said David.

Cram, once started, chatted on. He ran an appraising eye over David’s neat but not new suit, his correct but worn hat, his well-kept but muscular hands. He pulled out a watch, white gold, thin and racy-looking in its general correctness.

“What time you got?” he asked.

David, with a smile, obligingly bit. He hauled out a large fat silver timepiece on the turnip order, and gravely offered its moon face for Cram’s inspection.

“Heirloom?” asked Cram compassionately.

“My grandfather’s,” replied David.

“How the old fellows loved those turnips!” said Cram. “I had an old hick of a grandfather, a farmer out in the sticks. He had one of those, and we couldn’t make him give it up. Same with yours, I suppose.”

“No, he wouldn’t give it up,” said David. “Used it all his life, then gave it to me.” What use to tell Cram how that watch had been carried by its intrepid owner into Africa, and through the jungles of South America? It had lived in China, had skirted the steppes of Russia, had been shipwrecked, and shot at. The dent on its fat back was the mark of a poisoned arrow in Australia. No, his grandfather had never given it up until, called at last to explore a far more distant and unknown country, his dying hand had pressed it into the baby grasp of his grandson.

“Sentiment is a blamed poor thing,” Cram declared; then, as if he had been too friendly, he rose abruptly, nodded and with a brief “See you later,” went off, carrying the newspaper, and David’s time-table as well.

With a sigh of relief, David tackled his bacon and eggs, and a second man slid into the vacant seat. He looked directly at David with a pair of keen blue eyes, around which curled thick fair lashes. His shock of reddish-gold hair had been struggled with, but not subdued. His wide grin disclosed dazzling white teeth, whiter by contrast with the deep sunburn of his skin.

“Mind if I sit here, Buddy?” he asked cheerily.

“Not a bit,” said David, smiling in return.

“Name’s Ryan,” said the blond husky. “Kenneth Ryan.”

“I’m David Ellison,” said David, warming at once to the honest face and clear gaze.

“Glad to meet you,” said Ryan, extending his hard and muscular hand. He studied the menu card anxiously. “These here mennoos!” he groaned. “What makes ’em have so many things to pick from? When I’m home I eat at delicatessens, or Childs’; but this! Damfino what to choose!”

“I had oatmeal, and bacon and eggs, and cakes,” said David helpfully.

“Bully!” said Ryan. He looked up at the waiter. “The same,” he said, waving a comprehensive hand toward David’s place. Then he settled his elbows on the table.

“I seen you talking to Lord Cram,” he chuckled.

“For a few minutes,” said David. “You know him?”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know me, now. I used to go to school with him when we were kids at St. Mary’s school in Lawton, Oklahoma. His folks couldn’t send him to public school on account of the Mex and Indians fightin’ him so because of the way he yelled. Beat any Indian war cry you ever heard. Then his grandfather struck oil on his worthless farm, and, lordymighty, the Crams just soared! No, he don’t know me. I’m just a mechanic. How far are you going, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ayre, Ohio,” said David.

“Ayre!” said Ryan. “Why, that’s where Cram is bound. That’s funny! By golly, I bet you are both set to try that examination at the Goodlow Plant.”

“I am, at any rate,” said David. “I don’t know about Cram. He didn’t put out any information.”

“Afraid you might cramp his style. That’s him all over. You might jump off the train ahead of him, and get the first taxi, and reach the plant first, and grab off a job as vice president.”

“Are you going there, too?” asked David.

“Yes, I am, as it happens, but not for that apprentice course, worse luck. I haven’t enough education. I want to land a job as mechanic. I just can’t keep away from the flying machines, Ellison, and,” he added, thrusting out a stubborn jaw, “if I get a chance down at Goodlow’s, I’ll bet my bottom dollar that I will make a swell mechanic. I’ve nothing at all above the collar,” he grinned, “but I own a damn good pair of hands.”

“You will do,” laughed David. “Here’s hoping we both get in. We’ll see something of each other if we do. I’ve got to write a note to my mother; see you later.”

“Sure, sure!” said Ryan, beaming. “I camp in the smoker. So long!”

He watched David leave the car.

“Well, Red, we like that bozo, don’t we?” he told himself. “True blue, if I can read a man, and a gentleman born. As my mother says, the mark of character shows on a man, no matter how many overcoats he wears.”

Later, in the club car, David found Cram reading a magazine. He walked up to him.

“You forgot to return my time-table, I think,” he said.

“Time-table? Oh, yes, here it is. I did take it, didn’t I? Sorry, and thanks.”

“That’s all right,” said David, turning.

“Wait!” Cram exclaimed. “Sit down. I’d like to talk to you. I am wondering if you are going to Ayre.”

“I think it is marked on my time-table,” returned David.

“I noticed it. It doesn’t happen that you are going down for the examinations at Goodlow’s, does it?”

“On account of my name being the same as an aviator?” laughed David. “As a matter of fact, I am going for the exams.”

Cram shook his head. “That’s almost too bad,” he said. “You’ve come a long way, but I’m afraid you won’t have the ghost of a chance, unless you brought a lot of credentials, letters from your teachers, and congressmen, and senators, and so on. No? Well, they tell me it is going to take a lot of pull to get in, a darned lot of pull. You see, these people want to interest influence and money, and they are going to give first chance to the applicants who can do ’em the most good that way.”

“That’s too bad,” said David, without showing any particular anxiety. “I can’t show a letter from a single senator. I had an idea that this was strictly a personal merit proposition.”

“Personal merit hasn’t a show these days, my boy.”

“What pull have you got?” asked David.

Cram put a hand on David’s knee.

“Boy, I have a suitcase stuffed full of credentials. I have enough to paper a room! No need to worry over my chances.”

“That’s fine,” said David heartily. “I will have to depend on school reports, and such things.”

He nodded, and walked away. He was depressed in spite of himself. The cocksure arrogance of Cram was funny, yet it stuck in David’s mind. He was glad to wander into the smoker and talk to Ryan, who greeted him joyfully. He repeated his conversation with Cram.

“Aw, he makes me sick!” scoffed Ryan. “He may make the grade, at that, though. He got to be quite a shark at his books, and he’s had a small plane, so he can talk smooth and easy. Yeah, he may pass. Lots of ways he’s not so bad. My brother Mike likes him.”

“You have a brother?” asked David.

“Six,” said Ryan. “Have you any?”

“Six? Gosh! No; I have two sisters.”

“Only two? I have five. That’s quite a houseful to bring up and dress and feed, even in Oklahoma. No wonder we boys worked. But it did us good, at that. I don’t begrudge any of it, except I was sorry that I never could get the hang of my lessons. Some of us is smart, though. My oldest brother was a chaplain in the army through the war. I wanted to enlist last year, and told him so; and he said, ‘Red Ryan, you no-account, if you go enlistin’ in the army for thirty a month and found, I’ll find ye and I’ll not leave one strip of skin on your back, and the Pope and me will excommunicate you beside.’ He’s a murderin’ cuss. I’m not one to butt into your affairs, Mr. Ellison, but don’t you give Wally one worrisome thought. You’ll pass. I like your straight-looking eyes, and so will they.”

David laughed. “Why, you fuss me, Ryan,” he said, “but I am going to get in. I have got to pass; and if I fail this time, I’ll get work with you, and study nights, and try for the next class.”

“That’s the stuff, me lad!” cried the redhead. “Not climbing up on nobody’s shoulders. And Red Ryan’s the lad that’s going to stand by and hurray when you’ve got where you’re goin’.”

But five days later, at the Goodlow Plant in Ayre, David did pass. As anticipated, there was a mob of applicants. Scores of them, who saw in flying an easy way of escaping the grind of ordinary toil. These soon faded out of the picture, when they found out a little of the requirements and routine of the strenuous years ahead, and left a few real enthusiasts, boys who realized that aviation is humanity’s dream come true.

How can we guess what hours the cave man spent, after a kill and its resultant feast, lying on some mossy bank, watching the swift and glorious flight of great birds, and longing to be as they? Then, ages passing, the vision persisted with the winged beasts of the Apocalypse; the flying steeds of Zeus; Pegasus, beautiful and free, winging his glorious way toward the dawn, outracing the Flying Carpet; eager young Icarus, his wings of wax melting in the sun. Ever aspiring, the dreamers passed, laughing at Darius Green as he tumbled, and watching with bated breath as the first hot-air balloons lumbered clumsily into the air! An age-old dream that has never grown less alluring, never less lovely, but depends at last on man’s own knowledge and desperate endeavor.

So, in the big austere room, where the Board of Judges met, the stream of applicants slowly divided, one part to be absorbed again into the arteries of the cities, the other part to face the final questions and scrutiny of men well able to judge men’s capabilities, and read their secret ambitions.

They were questioned in small groups; and David, when dismissed with a number of others with the welcome assurance that they would be enrolled as student apprentices, was unaware of the good impression he had made on the examining board. As he was about to leave the room, someone at his elbow called his name. A tall gray-haired man stood beside him.

“Are you Rick Ellison’s son?”

“Why, yes, sir,” said David.

“I am Colonel Porter. I am very proud to have known your father. He was an ace of aces. His death, coming at that last moment of the war, was doubly a tragedy and a great loss to the air service. You have something to live up to, young man.”

“I am proud, Colonel, but if you don’t mind—well, sir, would you mind doing me a favor?”

“Name it, son!” said the Colonel. “Doing a favor for Rick Ellison’s boy would seem like doing something for him; and God knows anyone who knew him would jump at that chance.”

“It is only this,” said David. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not have it known here about father. He is too big for me. I want to see if I can’t make good without leaning on his record. If it leaks out now that I am Captain Ellison’s son, lots of ’em will watch me and perhaps be kinder to me than I deserve.

“Don’t you see, sir, it is sort of like the ginks in old times, who used to go out to kill dragons and rescue fair ladies carrying plain shields, so nobody would know that their fathers were kings, until they had proved that they were pretty hot themselves.”

“Absolutely; you are right!” said the Colonel. “I will not tell, but don’t forget that I am David Ellison’s friend, for his own sake as well as for the sake of his father.” He shook David’s hand and as the boy went out muttered to himself, “Damned if that kid hasn’t killed his first dragon, already; the dragon of dependence!”

Once outside, David sprinted for a telegraph office, and the glorious news of his success ticked gaily off to his mother. Then taking his suitcase, he returned to the Goodlow Plant, and at the barracks was assigned his quarters.

On his way to find Ryan he saw Cram sitting outside the General Offices, where the Board was working.

“What’s the glad news, Cram?” he cried.

Cram looked up.

“Well, there’s some hitch,” he said. “I guess they don’t know just which class to put me in. They told me to wait until afternoon. I thought I might as well stay right here.”

“Did they read all your dope?” asked David.

“They have it in there,” said Cram. “I’ll bet it knocks ’em cold. I told ’em all I could, but it was such a scramble. I don’t believe I touched on the oil. Ready money, Ellison. A few family gushers to put into improvements and all that. Yes, I ought to have mentioned the oil.”

“Well, I bet the oil will leak out sooner or later,” said David. “Good luck!” He went on.

Two hours later as David skirted the big landing field, he saw Cram, suitcase in hand, hurrying toward the taxi stand. David shouted, but he did not appear to hear. Breaking into a run, David overtook him.

“What’s the decision?” he enquired.

Cram’s face was livid; his lips twitched.

“Ellison, they turned me down!” he announced. “Said I wasn’t scholastically and technically qualified. Politics in it somehow, of course. Or some personal grudge.” He swore roundly.

“Why, that’s too bad!” said David. The other’s bitter disappointment roused a feeling of friendship that surprised him.

“I’ll get even somehow,” said the other. “Why, all I wanted was to make a name for myself in something beside oil.” His eyes filled.

“Well, that’s all right. You study, and come back next year, and try again. If you want any help or suggestions, write me. I’ll do what I can.”

Cram did not reply at once. He smoothed his ruffled hair with a hand that shook.

“I guess I’m like our Indians. Some grudges I never forget.”

“Be a good Indian then, Cram, and don’t tomahawk anybody until you know just what’s what.”

Cram sneered, and with a glare over David’s shoulder walked hastily away. David turned to see the cause of the venomous look. It was Red Ryan, whistling lustily.

“Red, they kicked him out,” said David.

“Not Cram!”

“Yep, and gosh, he is sore! Wants to kill someone. Wants to be a bad Indian, in fact.”

“Cram kicked out—”

“Not really kicked,” said David. He repeated Cram’s report.

“He’ll consider he’s been dynamited. Well, with my brother a priest, I’d do better not to rejoice as I could. But if he’s gone, he’s gone, and we’ve new jobs, and tough ones ahead of us.”