FullReads

A doctor ran out from the crowd and hastily put his ear to Norton’s chest. No one spoke, but we all scanned the doctor’s face anxiously.

“Just stunned–he’ll be all right in a moment. Get some water,” he said.

Kennedy pulled my arm. “Look at the gyroscope dynamo,” he whispered.

I looked. Like the other two which we had seen, it also was a wreck. The insulation was burned off the wires, the wires were fused together, and the storage-battery looked as if it had been burned out.

A flicker of the eyelid and Norton seemed to regain some degree of consciousness. He was living over again the ages that had passed during the seconds of his terrible fall.

“Will they never stop? Oh, those sparks, those sparks! I can’t disconnect it. Sparks, more sparks–will they never–” So he rambled on. It was fearsome to hear him.

But Kennedy was now sure that Norton was safe and in good hands, and he hurried back in the direction of the grand stand. I followed. Flying was over for that day, and the people were filing slowly out toward the railroad station where the special trains were waiting. We stopped at the wireless station for a moment.

“Is it true that Norton will recover?” inquired the operator.

“Yes. He was only stunned, thank Heaven! Did you keep a record of the antics of your receiver since I saw you last?”

“Yes, sir. And I made a copy for you. By the way, it’s working all right now when I don’t want it. If Williams was only in the air now I’d give you a good demonstration of communicating with an aeroplane,” continued the operator as he prepared to leave.

Kennedy thanked him for the record and carefully folded it. Joining the crowd, we pushed our way out, but instead of going down to the station with them, Kennedy turned toward the barn and the yellow house.

For some time we waited about casually, but nothing occurred. At length Kennedy walked up to the shed. The door was closed and double padlocked. He knocked, but there was no answer.

Just then a man appeared on the porch of the yellow house. Seeing us, he beckoned. As we approached he shouted, “He’s gone for the day!”

“Has he a city address–any place I could reach him to-night?” asked Craig.

“I don’t know. He hired the barn from me for two weeks and paid in advance. He told me if I wanted to address him the best way was ‘Dr. K. Lamar, General Delivery, New York City.'”

“Ah, then I suppose I had better write to him,” said Kennedy, apparently much gratified to learn the name. “I presume he’ll be taking away his apparatus soon?”

“Can’t say. There’s enough of it. Cy Smith–he’s in the electric light company up to the village–says the doctor has used a powerful lot of current. He’s good pay, though he’s awful closemouthed. Flying’s over for to-day, ain’t it? Was that feller much hurt?”

“No, he’ll be all right to-morrow. I think he’ll fly again. The machine’s in pretty good condition. He’s bound to win that prize. Good-bye.”

As he walked away I remarked, “How do you know Norton will fly again?”

“I don’t,” answered Kennedy, “but I think that either he or Humphreys will. I wanted to see that this Lamar believes it anyhow. By the way, Walter, do you think you could grab a wire here and ‘phone in a story to the Star that Norton isn’t much hurt and will probably be able to fly to-morrow? Try to get the City News Association, too, so that all the papers will have it. I don’t care about risking the general delivery–perhaps Lamar won’t call for any mail, but he certainly will read the papers. Put it in the form of an interview with Norton–I’ll see that it is all right and that there is no come-back. Norton will stand for it when I tell him my scheme.”