INQUISITIVE BILLY AND HIS COUSIN GIBB.

BY RICHARD BARRY.

The only way to prove whether this story is true or not is to find the Professor (who could tell you all about it) and the Quartermaster (who claims to have been an eyewitness), and ask them; or to believe the tale that Billy Schreiber, Jun., and his cousin, Gibson Peters, II., tell, without any proof at all. But the two young gentlemen say they really and truly had this adventure, and that it honestly happened on the Fourth of July.

The Professor had rented the old Hope farm because it was the loneliest place on Long Island; and although he had lots of business on hand, for some reason he did not wish to be caught working at it. Perhaps he was bashful, and did not wish anybody to see him in his shirt sleeves. At all events, he took great precautions.

Now the way that Billy Schreiber and Gibb Peters found out that the Hope farm (it had been deserted for years) was rented was this: They went over there one day, and saw from Trotters Hill that the Hope barn had been reshingled, that the house was evidently occupied, and some men were at work building a road through the apple orchard. It was quite half a mile away, but they could make all this out very plainly.

"What's going on?" said Gibb to Bill.

"Something on the Q. T.," was the answer, "or father would have known about it, you can be sure of that!"

Mr. Schreiber senior was the station agent at the only railroad that came to that part of the country, and he knew the why and wherefore of every parcel that came into the village of Centreport. The boys looked off to the right, and saw piles of new lumber and boxes stored near the barn-yard, and crawling along the lower road a heavy-laden team that kicked up no small amount of dust.

"Those things never came by rail," said Gibb.

"Perhaps they brought them in from the south shore by boat," answered Billy, wisely. "'Tain't more 'an fifteen miles."

"Well, the easiest way to settle it," said Billy, "is to go in and ask them what they're doing."

"Don't think they'd object, do you?" suggested Gibb.

"Of course not," Billy answered. "Let's walk right up the main road."

But they were forced by circumstances to abandon this straightforward, fair, and aboveboard way of doing things. They had hardly turned the bend in the road at the bottom of the hill when there, in front of them, stretched a heavy barbed-wire fence, with the strands so close together that no one could possibly get through it or under it. Even climbing looked risky, and on the top of a post was the following legend, in very black letters:

"Trespassing Forbidden. Beware! No one Allowed on this Property on any Pretence Whatever. No Admittance."

"That kind of stops us," observed Billy to Gibb. "Say! what do you suppose is going on in there, anyhow?"

"Counterfeiters!" exclaimed Gibb; "that's what they are. I've read about them hiring lonely houses."

"It may be," returned his cousin. "But I've got an idea."

Now Billy Schreiber was the smartest boy in the Northport, Eastport, Westport, and Centreport schools. He read all the newspapers that he could lay his hands on, and, moreover, had the good fortune, of course, to be the son of his father—who had asked so many questions in his life that he could not help having imbibed a vast store of knowledge—and Billy had inherited some of his father's traits.

"Yes, I've got an idea," he repeated. "They're fitting out a Cuban expedition."

Why they should be fitting out a Cuban expedition twenty miles from the coast it might be hard to tell, but it sounded nice and adventurous. It was full of possibilities, and the idea struck Gibb at once as being almost worthy of "Old Sleuth, the Guessing Detective," of whose wondrous discernment he had read in a dime novel.

"Let's make believe we are spies," said Gibb, "and find out. Don't let's tell them in the village anything about it."

"All right," answered Billy. "Then get down on your hands and knees and crawl through the bushes."

No sooner said than done, and the boys crept into the thicket of scrub-oak. But the heavy fencing ran completely around the old Hope farm, and they could get no nearer to the house than when they had first sighted it, the distance of fully a quarter of a mile and more. They could see, however, that there were five or six men employed about the buildings, that three or four large wagons were drawn off to one side, and that an object that looked like a steam threshing-machine, and yet a little like a fire-engine, was under a sheltering tent made of canvas.

"I'll wager father could tell what that is," said Billy, pointing.

"But don't you tell him anything," said Gibb, "or you'll have half the village up here pokin' round. My father says your father is a knowin' feller, but he talks too much. I tell you what let's do, let's keep this thing secret."

Now Billy and Gibb had had secrets very often during the course of their acquaintance, but they had never succeeded in keeping them any length of time. But on this occasion they determined to make a compact, sacred and awful, and not to be betrayed, no matter what happened. So that night, after every one else had gone to bed, they drew up a fearful paper in red ink, with skulls and cross-bones, and added the pictures of an eagle, a locomotive, and an American flag as extra decorations.

As it rained all of the next day, they staid in the house, drawing up the plans of campaign, and were near to betraying themselves upon more than one occasion. Gibb proposed to let his uncle into the secret, under a bond of strict adherency to silence, but Billy, maybe because it is a wise child that knows its own father, refused to second the motion, and the conspirators remained two in number.

Everything was arranged for an early start on Saturday morning, in order to make it a day of reconnoitring. But, alas! Billy, who had been ailing, broke out with the measles. This was distressing enough; but as the elder cousin generally led in most things, Gibb felt it incumbent upon himself to follow suit, and three days later he wanted to wager that he was "rasher than Billy, anyhow."

This unforeseen postponement rather reduced the intensity of their curiosity; but when they were convalescing, after three weeks' close confinement, it was decided they must hasten, as rumors of the goings on at Hope farm had already reached the village, and Mr. Schreiber had expressed his intention of harnessing up and driving out that way some time in the near future.

"Our scheme's a goner if he gets there before we do," said William, upon hearing this—and at last a day came when they got away.

They were a little weak in the knees, and the six-mile tramp down the dusty road wore upon them. But at last they arrived at the barbed-wire fence that blocked the old driveway to the farm. Apparently there was nothing unusual going on, although a huge door had been cut in the front of the hay-barn, and through the roof of one of the smaller buildings a tall iron pipe extended, from which white feathery steam was spurting regularly, showing that machinery was at work within.

Through the orchard ran a long board walk, or so it appeared to the boys, at least. They skirted through the underbrush, seeking a place where a brook entered the Hope property, knowing that there they could find out something by closer observation. As they crossed a little path, a man stepped from behind a tree directly in front of them. So intent had been the boys on the idea that they were Spanish spies, that they had been communicating with one another in most unintelligible gibberish, and their first idea was that they must have betrayed themselves. But the man, who was dressed in a very citified fashion, appeared to be rather glad to see them.

"Halloa, boys!" he said. "Do you live here?"

They shook their heads.

"Well, do you know Professor Woerts?"

"Naw," said Gibb. "Who is he?"

The young man did not reply. "What's going on in there?" he asked. "Eh? Go on, tell us."

But Billy had learned something by this time in the question-asking line. "Who are you?" he put in.

"I'm a reporter for the Evening Detector, and have come here to find out what Professor Woerts is doing. Of course I know something about it, but he won't let any reporters on the premises."

It was evident that the Professor had adopted no half-way measures to keep curious persons away, for a man on horseback, with a shot-gun across his saddle, rode around a corner of the woods inside the fence just at this moment. The boys were for running at once, but the young man in the stiff Derby hat hallooed out: "Heigh there, mister! I want to talk to you."

The man on horseback rode closer.

"What's the matter with you fellows, anyhow?" began the reporter. "Woerts ought to know that I'm going to write a story about this, whether I get in or not. Say! I'll give you five dollars to change clothes with me and let me ride up to that stable—I won't steal the horse or the house, either."

"It's agin' orders to let anybody inside here," answered the sentry, with a drawl—"until the day," he added.

"Well, look here," went on the reporter, "tell me something. Has she had a run yet?"

"I won't tell you nothing," the man replied, "and there's nobody ye can see. Me and the Professor's the only folks on the premises. So go on away."

"You're a polite gentleman; I like you," said the reporter, kissing his hand. "Say! I'm going back and write up a story about you all being crazy. The whole thing's a fake; that's my opinion."

At this the man on the horse woke up. "Fake, eh?" he said. "All you fellows will be let in at the right time. No, sir, it's a success. You should have seen last night—"

"Should've seen what?" asked the reporter, putting his hand in his pocket for his note-book.

"Nothing," the man answered. "Keep the other side of the fence!" He touched his horse with the whip and rode away.

Evidently the reporter was chagrined at his lack of success, for he inquired the direction of the nearest port and the time of the trains.

Schreiber, who was a walking time-table, gave him the necessary information, and he strode off. The boys, however, continued their way until they came to the brook. Sure enough, they could get under the wire fence easily if they wished to try it.

But as they were feeling hungry, they determined to postpone further investigations until later. Well, a week went by, and at last the night they had settled upon arrived. It was bright moonlight, and the day had been a very busy and a noisy one. For, as it happened long ago, the signers of a certain important paper connected with our national history had settled on this day to "proclaim liberty throughout the land." It was "the Glorious Fourth!" Billy and Gibb had fired fire-crackers until there weren't any left; had gone in swimming four times, which were three too many; and had told their families that they were going over to Westport in the evening to see the "celebrashun," which was not exactly the truth. But the Hope farm was in Westport, if in any place, and perhaps the result of their visit might be termed a celebration.

It was nearly midnight when they reached the brook, and splashed down it until they came to the wire fence. They ducked under the lower strand, and, soaking wet, they scrambled up the bank on the other side.

"Say! ain't this excitin'?" whispered Gibb, as they peered around the corner of the barn, and saw that the house was still and deserted. The moonlight made everything quite bright, and the boys saw that a track like a railroad switch, only with double rails on each side, ran up to the door of the barn, and extended through the orchard into the meadow a distance of almost half a mile. It was strongly and carefully made, but what it was used for the boys had no idea.

"If we could only get into the barn," sighed Gibb.

"Hush!" answered Billy. "Let's see if the door's open."

They sneaked out of the shadows, and found a long rope with a cross-piece hanging within easy reach. Billy gave it a pull. There was a creak, and the great doors opened out slowly, exposing the whole front of the huge barn. There before them, they saw a strange object—a flat-boat on wheels it appeared to be at first glance, with a superstructure of tall tubes, strung and guyed with tense wires no heavier than fiddle-strings. But that was not all. A succession of wide flat surfaces stretched one above another. They looked like sails spread the wrong way.

When the doors had swung open so noisily the boys looked toward the house to see if they had been discovered, but not a sound or a stir did they hear or see.

"Come in. Let's look at the thing," Gibb said, entering cautiously, "What under the sun is it?"

Billy followed him, and the boys now perceived that on the deck of the flat-boat which rested on the wheels was something that looked like the engine of a steam-launch, but there was no boiler in sight—three round cylinders of a shining white metal placed one above the other, and overhead a series of complicated belts and cogs. Now four strange-looking objects resolved themselves into four huge twisted fans like propellers.

"Golly! I wish we had more light," muttered Gibb, as he stumbled over something on the floor.

He half fell against the flat-boat, and it rolled a few feet along the track.

"Goodness! doesn't it move easy?" said Billy, giving it a shove.

Despite the apparent size and the various complications, the great thing ran as smoothly as a bicycle. In fact, it needed but a little extra pushing to wheel it out on the track into the air.

The sky had clouded a little, but there was enough light to see by. The boys clambered up on the deck, as it were. As they did so Gibb put out his hand to steady himself, and it touched something that moved. Now a strange thing happened. There was a click, a buzzing sound, and a soft whirring began close overhead. Slowly and surely the car began to move. The whirring grew louder, and then with a jump the whole fabric started off at a tremendous pace. The boys clutched two of the uprights in mad terror. Before they knew it they were tearing through the orchard at fifty miles an hour. In fact, it all happened so quickly that the sensations of these first few seconds left but a vague impression.

There was a lifting trembling quiver that caused both the unwilling passengers to hold on tighter, if possible, than before, and all at once there was a crash that almost took out their arms. They had reached the end of the track, but they did not stop. Oh no! As a stone skips off the surface of a mill-pond they left the earth, with a sickening upward swoop that almost stopped their hearts. On and on, higher and higher, with a roaring whirring sound in their ears, and then apparently they reached a height where for a few moments, as Billy afterwards put it, they "kept an even keel." But it was not for long. There was a dip forward, and down they swooped at even greater speed than they had ascended. Gibb began to scream now, and, fell flat, with his arms about the upright and his legs, spread out, clawing with his toes to keep himself from slipping. Billy lost his balance too, and reaching up his hand, caught one of the stays. Instantly there was a great rush of air, a checking of the downward motion, and, as Gibb put it, they "scooped" up again. Maybe the two boys had become more used to this nightmare sort of motion by this time, for they were lying with their faces looking over the side. Far below them they could see the dark shadow that they knew was ground, and little twinkling lights that they knew were houses. Some brilliant-colored fireworks burst in the air beneath them. For some five or ten minutes they kept on a level, and for the first time found a chance to indulge in conversation.

"Where are we going to, anyway?" shrieked Gibb, in mortal fear.

"I dun'no'," chattered Billy, with his hair on end. "Hold tight; the old thing's goin' down again."

Sure enough, the flying-machine had taken a sort of twist off to the eastward, and was descending every second but at such an angle that it would be some minutes before it struck. The fans were working slower, and the great kitelike tail behind sagged slightly. But the stretches of silk were taut, and trembling like tight-trimmed fore-sails. They were skimming now scarcely two hundred feet above the tops of the trees. Half a mile away they saw the waters of the bay. The flight was becoming less swift, and they were sinking downwards with a sliding motion, softly and surely, but still with enough force to crush themselves to pieces should they strike the earth. Beneath them they saw a house. Gibb was whimpering again, and Billy also had begun to blubber.

Oh, what would they not give to awake and find that this was all a dream! But no; here they were holding tight for their lives, and there, below, stretched the pier where the light-house-tender always landed. There was the steamer. Two minutes more and they would—

But here is where Quartermaster Tim Muldoon comes into the story. It was his watch on the deck of the U.S.S. Fern, light-house-tender, and Tim had returned from liberty ashore early in the evening. He was drowsy and tired. Suddenly he was aroused by hearing a sound as if made by giant rushing wings. He raised his head, and then fell backwards flat upon the deck; not forty feet above him a huge thing was shooting along through the air.

Tim closed his eyes, and called in a whisper upon the saints. He would have screamed, but his voice apparently had left him. The first shock over, however, he rose to his feet and rubbed his eyes. No, it was not imagination. There was the huge thing dashing along over the surface of the bay. Then, as Mr. Muldoon watched it, it remained stationary for a minute, and slowly sank. Tim put his hand in his pocket and pulled something out. There was a splash, and a big black bottle sank alongside the pier-head. Then, with a frightened look on his face, Tim went below and called the other watch.

Half an hour later two dripping boys appeared at the Schreiber house. They were weak and pale, and when Mrs. Schreiber saw them they stood there holding on to the banisters.

"Don't let's tell them a thing," whispered Billy.

"All right," said Gibb. "Let 'em think what they want to."

"You've been out on the water and upset," said Mrs. Schreiber, emphatically. "William, I'll tell your father to-morrow morning. You'll catch it!"

"All right, ma'am," said Billy, meekly. "I guess me and Gibb will go to bed."

As the boys went up stairs Mrs. Schreiber heard her nephew say,

"Billy, I guess we swum half a mile."

Now on board the Fern they attribute Quartermaster Muldoon's conversion to the cause of total abstinence to the fact that one night he saw a fish-hawk as big as a full-rigged ship come down out of the sky and sink into the waters of Horseshoe Point, where the charts show no bottom.

Two days after the Fourth of July Mr. Schreiber drove over to the Hope farm. He found the wire across the road had been taken down, and apparently everything hauled away but a few odds and ends of strange-looking timbers and a section of a wooden track.

One of the Sunday papers published, a week or so afterwards, a long article with the following headings: "Professor Woerts's Air-Ship Runs Away! The Professor claims that His Wonderful Invention took Flight and disappeared of Its own Accord. Lost—A Flying-Machine. He says he will make another!"

The other papers commented upon the story, and said, "It is a pretty good yarn." But they all advised the Professor to "chain the shebang down."

Now what I have written here is what I got from the boys, and whether it is a good yarn or not I do not know; but, as I said before, just find the Professor and the Quartermaster; they may help you to decide.