The Banner Boy Scouts in the Air

“Yes, sir.”

The boys at the shed cheered lustily and William waved his hand as Major McCarthy took off. The machine rose lightly into the air and was mounting fast into a clear sky, smoothly and easily as a bird. William, was at first nervous and tense, but soon he relaxed, his whole body seeming to vibrate to the rhythm of the machine. Suddenly he felt a light bump on the back and he quickly threw his hands up into the air. The major was rather surprised. Usually pupils during their first lesson are too excited to remember the instructions they have received. The major felt a glow of satisfaction, and hoped that William would respond to all instructions so quickly.

They were about two thousand feet in the air. William felt a thrill when he heard his instructor’s voice through the telephone. The major was saying to him, “Okey, William, in a couple of minutes I’m going to let you fly the machine and you must obey precisely all my instructions. Put your hand on the joystick and your feet on the rudder bar.”

He complied. The next instant he felt a bump on his back and quickly he put his hands above his he had. McCarthy was delighted with the boy’s quick response. “This boy,” he said to himself, “is a natural born flyer.”

The major’s voice was coming over the telephone. “Okey, William,” it said, “you’re going to fly the machine now. Only obey instructions precisely.”

McCarthy spoke gently and authoritatively. William obeyed. The machine responded to his slightest touch. William felt a certain power in handling the machine and it thrilled him. The major said, “Now when I give the command, ‘Right turn,’ you kick on the right rudder and push the joystick over to the right. Ready? Now, ‘Right turn.’ Keep the same altitude.”

The major kept talking most of the time, explaining every movement and demonstrating his instructions. They practiced banking, climbing, diving. This was no ordinary pupil, the major thought. He was aware that the other boys would not respond as well as William, with whom he progressed much more than with the average pupil. To satisfy himself for the last time, he permitted William to fly alone for several minutes, then tapped the boy on the back. Instantly the latter’s hands flew above his head. The major, deeply satisfied, said, “That was very good, William. I think you’ve had more than enough for the first lesson, so we’ll go back now.” Thus saying, he took control of the machine.

The boys cheered as the plane taxied to a landing. As the instructor and his pupil climbed out of the machine, the boys came running up. “How did he do, major?” asked Wallace.

McCarthy smiled, very much pleased with his first pupil. “He did very well,” he announced.

“Yea!” shouted Bobolink.

“Hooray for William!” shouted Ken and Nuthin’.

When the boys quieted down again, the major put his arm affectionately on William’s shoulder, and said, “I don’t like to praise a pupil, because he is apt to become cock-sure of himself. But this time I can’t help praising him. William is a natural born flyer. I don’t want any one of you to feel badly if you’re not as good as he is because there are very few who take to flying spontaneously. I don’t want you to blame yourselves or feel badly about it. It’s something that none of us can help. We’re either born that way or not.”

Jack asked, “Did he fly by himself already?”

“He certainly did,” replied the major. “For about fifteen minutes he flew the machine all by himself.”

The boys cheered, proud of their friend. William was thrilled, but tried not to show it.

It was Paul’s turn now. Instructor and pupil took their respective places in the machine. Paul was excited, tense. McCarthy was curious to know how this boy would compare with William. He repeated the directions for a second time. The machine was climbing and they were gaining altitude. Paul was thrilled as he examined the various gadgets on the dashboard. Suddenly he felt a bump on his back. He was bewildered. What had happened. He turned around to see McCarthy chuckling and enjoying the baffled look on his face. The instructor said, “I told you to raise your hands above your head as soon as I tap you on the back. Keep alive.” Paul settled back in his seat, feeling ashamed of himself. Suddenly he again felt a tap on the back. Immediately he raised his hands above his head. “Very good,” said McCarthy encouragingly. Paul, too, would be a flyer, but not like William.

Soon Paul was at the controls and flying the machine in response to the instructor’s guidance. After the necessary instructions, McCarthy called out, “Ready? Left turn.”

Paul pushed out his left foot. The machine whipped to the left at a terrific speed. Suddenly he felt the stick being pushed over to the left. Then the right rudder bar moved forward, the stick came back to the right, now they were flying level once again. McCarthy had to intervene to help him out. He explained the mistake and Paul nodded, intimating that he understood. He was eager to do it over again, to show that he could do it. But this time the command was, “Right turn.” Paul got it all right.

After about thirty-five minutes of instructions, they returned to the airport. They climbed out of the machine and McCarthy inquired, “Well, how did you like it?”

“It was fine,” answered Paul grinning, “except that I think I was a trifle dumb in responding.”

“Oh, no, you weren’t,” McCarthy answered him. “You were all right. For about ten minutes you were flying all by yourself and I’m very pleased with you.”

Walking toward the office building, the major commented, “I see now that I’m going to enjoy teaching you boys. From the way it looks, I should say that all of you are someday going to be mighty fine flyers.”

“How long before we can go solo?”

“It all depends. About eight or ten lessons is the average.”

CHAPTER XI

Baseball Game

During the following weeks, the boys spent the major part of their time at the airport. Most of the boys were usually on hand when one of them took off for a lesson. And if there was no lesson, they spent their time dismantling the old plane and putting it together again. Ken and Nuthin’ became assistants to Fred, the chief mechanic. These two boys imparted their technical knowledge to their comrades.

As for McCarthy, he was happy and really enjoyed instructing the boys, because all of them responded so quickly to training. He taught them everything he knew about flying and found that William learned more easily than the others. McCarthy taught them to land, to take off, to do a few simple stunts. After four lessons, William was ready to solo. But his instructor wouldn’t permit him because McCarthy wanted them all to go up solo the same day, making it in the form of a graduation exercise.

In spite of their preoccupation in aviation, they spent many half hours discussing the mysterious airport and its consequences. Whatever evidence they had, however, was circumstantial and insufficient. And they couldn’t think of taking time out to do anything about it. The boys had other obligations, temporarily forgotten, which also had to be considered.

One day Paul called the boys together. Most of them were in overalls, their hands dirty with grease and their faces smeared. Looking at each other, they could not repress their smiles. Each in his own way was rather a funny sight. Ken laughed. “Hey, fellows, look at Bluff, will you?”

Bluff was wearing a pair of overalls that were much too large for him and his face was smeared with grease. “You’re n-no Ap-p-pollo yourself,” he countered.

Wallace asked, “What is it you want to talk to us about, Paul?”

“It’s this, fellows. We have been so busy the last few weeks, what with getting flying instructions and spending most of our time at the airport, that we have completely forgotten our baseball game with the Slavin team. We haven’t practiced at all and the game is only three days away.”

“Perhaps we can call the game off,” remarked William.

Several of the boys nodded in agreement, as their interest in aviation was much stronger than any thought of baseball just then. They were so engrossed in their work that any excuse was sufficient to try to break an agreement. Paul, however, objected. He said, “I fully know that all of us are more interested in our flying and all that, but we can’t go back on our word. We promised Ted Slavin and his team that we would play them and we’ve got to keep our word.”

Ken reminded the boys, “We also promised them a swimming match. That’s something we ought to practice up for, too.”

Nuthin’ asked, “Well what do you think we ought to do, Paul?”

“We have to keep our word and go through with it,” was the answer. “Beginning tomorrow, we have to keep away from the airport and spend the next two days practicing.”

“What about those who have flying lessons?” Bobolink wanted to know.

“Those who have lessons should not miss them,” answered Paul. “But the rest of us will have to keep away from the airport.”

The boys agreed. William said, “All right, then. Tomorrow morning we’ll meet at the baseball field for practice.”

Major McCarthy was glad to hear of their plans for reasons of his own. He was a bit skeptical of their sudden and overwhelming interest in aviation, because he feared that they might drop it just as suddenly and completely. Spending only limited periods of time at the airport, therefore, would test them. Besides, the major was also of the opinion that they were too young to have only one dominating interest, it was healthier for them to have a series of interests.

During the following two days, they spent most of their time on the baseball field. And when the day of the game arrived, they were in pretty good shape. They had one worry, however. Wallace, star pitcher for their team, had not come around all morning. They sent William to find out what had become of him.

As the time for the game approached, a fair crowd of townspeople had filled the stands. The Ted Slavin team with Ted as pitcher, was warming up, and some of his followers were encouraging him to demonstrate his famous slow ball. The opposing team, however, was in great agitation. William, out of breath, came running up. Paul guessed that William had accomplished nothing. Nevertheless he asked, “Well, any news?”

William gasped, “No. My mother said he left for the airport in the morning and that he hasn’t returned yet.”

“Did you call the airport?”

“I did and Fred told me that he left hours ago.”

Paul shook his head dejectedly. “Wonder what could have happened to him?” he muttered.

The boys formed a circle around Paul. Someone asked, “You think there is any chance of calling the game off?”

“No. What for? Suppose we lose the game, what difference would it make? We’ll play just the same.” Most of the boys nodded in agreement. Paul added, “All right, fellows, break it up. Let’s not show that we’re handicapped and need anyone’s pity. We’ll hold our own. Ken, are you warming up? You’re going into the box to start the game.”

Ken nodded. “Okey. I’m ready.”

Just then Major McCarthy came walking across the field. The boys waved to him. Paul greeted him. “Hello, major.”

“Hello, Paul. Came over to see the game.” Paul took the major by the arm and led him to one side.

“Wallace is missing,” he said. “He’s our star pitcher; without him, we have no chance of winning. But that’s beside the point. I’m worried about him. You have no idea what happened to him, do you?”

The major shook his head. “Why, no,” he answered. “I gave him a lesson and he left the airport at about ten. He even asked me to come and watch him pitch the game.”

“I can’t imagine what could have happened to him. He’s nowhere to be found and nobody seems to have seen him or heard from him.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. Is there anything I can do?”

Paul shook his head. “Guess not. You can sit on our bench though, and watch the game.”

“That’s swell. Thanks a lot.”

Just then the umpire came up, followed by Ted Slavin. “Ready?” asked the umpire.

Paul nodded. “Yes.”

“For up,” announced the umpire as he tossed a coin. The Slavin team was to go to bat first. “Who’s your pitcher?” the umpire asked.

“Ken Armstrong.”

Ted raised his eyebrows in astonishment. “Where’s Wallace?” he asked.

“He’ll be here in a short while. We’re saving him.”

Ted shrugged his shoulders. “Good luck,” he called as he walked away.

“Same to you,” countered Paul.

Paul signalled to the boys to take the field. The umpire took his place in the pitcher’s box and called, “Batter up!”

Paul was catching. He motioned to Ken to meet him halfway. He said, “Don’t let them discourage you. Let them hit; the boys out in the field will back you up.”

They separated and returned to their respective positions. As Ken poised, measuring up the first batter, a wave of applause and loud cheering went up from the stands. His team-mates encouraged him. “Alright, Ken, give it to him.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, boy. Let him smell it.”

“Sure. That guy’ll never see it.”

Paul signalled and Ken wound up. He took his time pitching the first ball. The batter patted the home plate with the bat as the umpire called, “Strike one!”

“That’s the boy, show him your dust.”

“Pity the poor guy! He’ll die without moving a leg.”

Ken wound up. He threw the ball. The batter gripped his bat, swung it and ran toward first base. Ken stuck his gloved hand out and pulled it in again. Everybody looked for the ball but nobody saw where it went. The umpire called, “Out!” Then Ken took the ball between his fingers and held it up for public inspection. A wave of laughter rolled slowly across the field. The hit had been a fast level one and Ken had snapped it out of the air so quickly that no one saw it.

The second batter was at the plate. Ken poised; without winding up, he pitched. The batter swung. It was a pop fly. Ken ran forward several feet, caught the ball and threw it to Bluff at first base. The ball then travelled to Bobolink at third, to William at second and back to Ken.

The third batter was up. Ken took his time measuring up the fellow. The batter stood at ease as the ball bounced with a plop into the catcher’s mitt. The umpire called, “Strike one.” Paul signalled and Ken threw the ball. The batter gripped his stick, but at the last moment he shook his head and let it pass. “Ball one!” called the umpire. The third ball came sailing down the line, fast, an inside curve. The batter stepped back and swung. The ball sailed away far out in left field. Nuthin’ saw the ball coming; he walked back several steps, waited for the ball to drop into his glove, then threw it to William at second.

The boys threw their gloves into the air as they ran in from the field. “That’s the boy, Ken!” they called, “that’s showing them.”

Ted Slavin was pitching for his team. He was a good man. Several semi-pro teams were out to sign him up but he held out. He was now in good form and he struck out the first batter in three pitched balls. The second batter made an attempt to hit the ball but he merely scraped it and the ball went up into the air and was caught by the catcher. The third man also struck out.

In the second inning, the Slavin team sent a man to first and third but they died on base. Paul started off for his team with a double but he died on third. During the next inning, the boys were kept on their toes backing up Ken. A grounder to the shortstop precipitated a double play to second and first. Ted, on the other hand struck out his three batters in quick succession.

The fourth inning began with the Slavin team set to send in a couple of runs. The first man up bunted and landed safely at first. The second batter placed a swift grounder between the pitcher and first base. Bluff went after it and threw the ball to second. William tried hard to get it but it was far over his head. The spectators were on their feet, yelling themselves hoarse. William dashed after the ball and threw it, but the runner was already safe on third. Ken got the ball. He looked at the men on second and third. Bobolink called, “Don’t worry, Ken, they’ll die on base.”

Someone else called encouragingly, “Come on, fellow, show them your speed.”

“Strike him out!”

Ken poised then pitched the ball. The batter swung and missed. The next ball was a strike. The batter gripped his bat and swung as the ball came hurtling through the air. Bobolink took several steps forward and very easily gathered in the ball.

Two men out and men on second and third. Paul signalled to Ken and the two met midway between home plate and the pitcher’s box. Ken inquired anxiously, “Well?”

Paul answered, “Nothing in particular. Just thought I’d give you a minute to relax. Don’t worry if they hit you; it can’t be helped. You’ve been doing swell so far.”

The pitcher nodded. “Okey. Thanks.”

Each walked back to his respective position. Ken poised, ready to pitch. Paul signalled and the pitcher hurled the ball. The batter looked unconcerned, but suddenly he tightened his grip on the bat and swung. Crack! The sound was like a pistol shot. The ball sailed high and far out into left field. Nuthin’ ran far back and as the ball began to drop out of the air, he jumped. The crowd was on its feet, hushed, its eyes glued to the ball. The men on base were running toward home plate; the batter was already at second. Suddenly the crowd gasped sounding like a wave breaking. Nuthin’ had missed the ball by inches. He scampered after it and threw it wildly to second. William ran for it but it was too wide. The spectators were shouting madly; the Slavin team were dancing wildly as the man crossed home plate safely.

The din and noise still sounded in his ears as Ken poised to pitch again. He turned around to see if every player was in his place. But it was totally unnecessary. He struck the batter out and that ended the spectacle. Coming in from the field, the players managed to smile, joke and even laugh. They slapped Ken on the back and told him not to worry. It was their chance now and they would more than get even.

The boys went to bat gripped with determination to send in some runs but their enthusiasm was destroyed by Ted’s mastery in the box. He teased the first batter with two balls and then struck him out. When the second walked up to the plate, Ted repeated his performance. The spectators cheered and his team-mates encouraged him. Bobolink held his bat lightly and walked slowly to the plate. The boys encouraged him. “Come on, Bobolink,” someone shouted, “sock the old pill.”

“Hit it a mile, boy!”

“Sock it, kid!”

Bobolink gripped the bat compressed his lips and waited for the ball. Ted thought he again would repeat his former performance of teasing the batter. He put over a fast ball, cutting the inside edges of the plate. Bobolink stepped back and swung. The spectators jumped to their feet, watching the ball sail through the air, while they held their breaths. Bobolink was notably a hard hitter. Suddenly a shout rumbled across the field. People cheered; others muttered their disgust. The player in left field knew the batter’s ability to hit and had moved far back. As the ball came sailing out, he was obliged to run further back, suddenly he realized that the ball would come down further on his right; the next second he lunged forward with extended arm, caught the ball barehanded and held on to it as he nearly tripped over himself. The inning was over and the players came in from the field.

Ken walked to the pitcher’s box and Paul took his place behind the home plate. An agitation rolled slowly through the stands. Play for play, Ken and his players far outshone the other team. True enough, Ted was doing some mighty fine pitching, but except for the single catch, his team wandered about idle at their posts. The other team, however, was of unequalled showmanship. Dramatically they pulled the ball out of the air, off the ground, staged a double-play that took people’s wind away. If only Wallace was in the box! Some murmurs began to circulate. “Wallace! Where’s Wallace!” But he was nowhere to be seen. The umpire called, “Batter up!”

Ken was piqued by all the muttering and mumbling around him. The effect upon him was surprising; it steeled him. He relaxed. Absolutely confident, he pitched superbly. Three men up, three men out. Not one of them even so much as swung a bat. They were so bewildered by the pitcher’s fury that they barely saw the ball whizz by them and before they realized it, they heard the plop of the ball in the catcher’s mitt.

Again the young aviators were at bat. The team determined to break the spell and send in a couple of runs. The first batter bunted and landed safely at first. Ted evidently sensed the determination of his opponents, for he became ill at ease. To relax, he summoned the catcher and they met midway; for several seconds they whispered to each other, then returned to their respective positions. The batter waited patiently for the pitcher to get going. Somebody in the stand shouted, “Hit it, boy, sock it!”

“Sock it a mile!” someone else screamed.

Ted poised. He put all his strength into the ball as he hurled it. The batter didn’t move a muscle. “Ball one!” called the umpire.

“Put it over!” someone shouted.

“Play ball!” shouted another.

Again Ted put all his strength into the ball. The batter gritted his teeth. Crack! The hit was a straight and low one, directly between the shortstop and third basemen. Both players went for it, collided as they tried to pick it off the ground. The batter went to first and the man on first went safely to second.

Ted was unnerved. “You have his mark!” someone in the stands shouted.

“Hit it, hit it!” was the cry of someone else.

Ted spit on the ball. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the man on first draw away from the base. Like a flash he wheeled and threw the ball. The first baseman lunged wildly for the ball but he missed by at least a foot. Shouts, cheers, groans rolled through the stands. Jack, coaching, at first, danced wildly and screamed, “Run, run!” Each man advanced a base.

Ken was up. He felt that now was the time to even the score. He had to do something. With a man on second and third, no outs, now was their chance. But Ted rallied sufficiently to strike the batter out. Once more Ted became confident and self-assured. There was no danger, he thought; he will strike the next two men out and show his mettle. But his confidence deceived him. The batter picked the first ball and hit a long fly which was caught, but which helped the man on third to come home and the man on second to advance to third base. Ted was now sufficiently unnerved to realize it himself. He signalled to a player on the sidelines; he waited until the relief pitcher began to come across the field, then started to walk off himself.

“Yea!” shouted a spectator.

“Knock this guy out of the box, too,” another spectator screamed.

“Swell showman,” said Paul.

“You said it,” agreed Jack. “He knows when to quit and that’s to his credit.”

The relief pitcher warmed up with a couple of throws. Finally the umpire called, “Batter up!”

Nuthin’ touched the home plate with his bat, held up the stick vertically for a fraction of a second, as a signal to the man on base, and then waited for the pitcher. The man in the box was perfectly confident and took his time. It was a trick to vex the batter and force him to strike, but Nuthin’ was a patient fellow and he waited. The first ball came over, at least a foot outside the plate. “Ball one!” called the umpire. The catcher threw back the ball and Nuthin’ let fall the bat off his shoulder. The pitcher eyed the man on third base; then turned to the batter. Nuthin’ gripped the bat. Shifting his position slightly, he struck at the ball. It was a foul, a couple of yards off third base. “That’s the boy!” someone shouted.

“You got his number!” was another encouraging phrase hurled by someone in the stands.

His team-mates encouraged him. “Hit it, Nuthin’. Just sock it once,” Bobolink urged.

The pitcher was not to be dissuaded from his easy going manner. And similarly Nuthin’ was not to be vexed; he was willing to wait, though he realized how much depended upon him. If he managed at least to send home the man on base, his team would be sufficiently encouraged to possibly even the score; if he was struck out, on the other hand, they might not get a similar chance again for the rest of the game. But all that didn’t confuse him. The next ball was wide and he didn’t move a muscle. The umpire called “Ball two!” The next ball he lunged at, and again fouled. “Strike two!” called the umpire.