THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 277, 31 December 1909, Page 3

THE STORYTELLER.

THE WHITE FEATHER AN AVIIATOE'S ROMANCE. L "I tell you you must fly—you shall fly—to-morrow 1" ' "I cannot! Don't force me to, iou don't understand. It came over me on Monday during my trial for height. 1 looked down. My eye measured the awful distance to the earth. I thought of what would happen if my motor—if any vital part of my machine—went wrong. And my head swam. How I got to the ground I cannot tell. It ■was by a miracle. I cannot fly tomorrow. I will write to the secretary. I will withdraw my name—say that I have been suddenly called away—anything. It does not matter. The race Will still be England's. Massingham is bound to beat the Frenchman." ,

"Coward!" The single word rang through the silent room, and the two men—he who bad uttered the taunt, and the one at whom it had been flung—stood facing each other, the elder with purple neck and choleric eyes, the younger with blanched face and twitching lips'. Neither of them—so dead were they to what was passing outside—heard steps approach. The handle of the door turned slightly, then remained still, as though the person outside was on the point of entering the room, but was arrested by some sudden cause. "Youl a Carnforth! a coward!" said the elder man.- "By Heaven, had anyone save yourself—my own sun—dared to hint such a calumny, I would have forced the foul words down his lying throat."

The younger man was silent. His •yes started, his forehead glistened with sweat, the hand which grasped the corner of the table trembled. Was this the daring aviator whose achievements had thrilled the hemispheres? It was he, with this difference, that sow he had lost his nerve. A man of penetration, glancing at the sensitive face—the clean-cut, delicate, almost womanish face—could understand why. Matter had militated against mind. Perhaps Norman Carnforth's courage itad always been greater than nis »trc- o 'th. ->ir Geoffrey Carnforth—the father—a, man of the British bulldog type, courageous to a degree, had never known what fear was, and was intolerant of it in others. "You must fly—you shall fly —tomorrowl" he said again. And again the son answered, "I cannot!" "Cannot?" echoed the baronet "There is so such word. Norman, 1 am not given to showing my feelings—but this I may tell you: I am proud of you—aye, prouder than it is possible for me to express. When yon were young you were a puny lad, and often 1 grieved in secret to think that Heaven had seen fit to bestow upon me such an offspring. But you have proved yourself equal to the best traditions' of the Camforths. You have exceeded my best hopes ol you. Is this going to be the end of it all?"

The son raised his hand in a nervous gesture. "I cannot fly to-morrow;' be said. *T am all You don't understand—you who have never had the same experience. Is it not better to withdraw sow—than go on and make an exhibition of myself?" "A thousand times no!" exclaimed the baronet. "Norman, listen to what t have to say. No one knows what you are to me. But, much as I love you, I would sooner bury you than see, you save your skin through cowardice. Think again. Conquer yourself. Fly tomorrow—and all will be well. But refuse to do what I ask of you, and I will never again look on your face. 1 would sooner have no son than a coward for a son." With these, words on his lips the baronet strode from the room. The eon dank into a chair, and sat, with his bead in his hands, in a state bordering on complete mental collapse.

"Massingham, yon will win." "You think sor "I am sure of it. The conditions are dead in your favor. There is little or 4-jio wind You, with your light monoplane, will Save a pronounced adHntage over Carnforth with his heavier |t«W ■■Sinful Til TT I. T iIMMt thmk Has a look in. /What is your opinion OB; the matter!" -' ■ since ,{you mention it," replied < Massingham, "the luck certainly appears to be- with me this morning. lam glad of it, Tom, I can tell you. I want „ every bit of luck I can get hold of today. Success means more to me than you can think." "The prize you're referring to, eh: Well, a handsome cup and a cool thousand in cash is not to be sneezed at." "I- wasn't thinking of that, Tom." "Oh, the honor! Be hanged to that:' "It wasn't exactly the honor, either. , "Then what on earth was it?" But Massingham was busy with himachine, and affected not to hear. He was jiving it a final rig-up prior to tin forthcoming trial. He walked round it feel>ig the parts with his fingers', tight en»<g a nut here, straightening a sta\ there. He performed his task lovingly, as though his beautiful aeroplane was to him a thing of life. . "jhlloa-J There goes Le fluret!" Massingham looks! up and said: "How will he fare tp-day, I wonder? He's a good fellow, as plucky as they make 'em, and a sportsman to the backbone."

Under i Mus sky white aeroplanes .Dkinuned with ease and grace through the air, contending for the various prizes. Then came the great event of the day —the trial of altitude, in which Norman Carnforth, victor Massingham, and the FTench champion, Le Huret, woull fight for lupremacy. The event was made additionally' attractive by the fact that the three ayiators were to By simultaneously. The crowd had assumed phenomenal proportions. The aerodrome was a moving mass of spectators, and outside thousands more clamored for admittance. Every coign of vantage for miles an <■:-; occupied. One in trepid v~<''<-'■'• ■•■- ">ad even mounted to the summit r: Dobbin's Hill—a flattopped hill half a mile from the aerodrome. He stood there surveying the jcepe through a pair of binoculars. goon the red pennunt was hoisted to the' masthead, then on the right api)«ared the blue and white flag indicating the trial of altitude, and on the left the colors of the contending aviatoraCarnforth's, 'he familiar red Oblong with w!,-.;-' dla..r-nd centre; Massingham's, the blue ttilli three parallel red .tripes; Le Huret/s, i> famous tricolor. Shortly afterwards a number oi blue-clad meebwiev issued from the

hangars, wheeling out the machines of the respective aviators. The aviato.s themselves were in close attendance, aim ijyere accorded a huge reception from th; spectators in the vicinity of the sheds, "That's he HurO—the chap in tif Norfolk suit »Hh knee-breeches am' stockings," remarked a well-informed member of the crowd. "B-side him is Masringham, in the brown overalls and wool cap which he affects. And that slim, lithe fellow to the rear, m the leather suit and motor-goggles, is Cam-forta-doesn't. carry much flesh on him, does he?" But fce's »U therc - {or a "

that." ~ I 'ore than the speaker in quegfeon had caught sight of the famous aviator. •«d a chorus of voices joined in the cry. ''Brav#, Carnforth!" A ripple of excitement ran through r.he vast aerodrome, then a mighty cheer ■nose as, from differed parts of the around, the three aviators ascended *n five air Camforth's substantial-look-lair \Mw flew with the steadiness of W altateGss 0» the wing; wlule the light, dainty monoplane* of Massinghaiu; and Le Huret, looking >*> ffff*«, dragon-flies, moved about with iall tne, grace of those pretty insects What the spectators thought as they teaw tie machines wheeling in the air must have found expression in multifarious reflections; but for the most »art the imagination was held captive by sheer awestruck fascination. Attention was first of all arrested by the consummate skill and daring of the Frenchman. Coolly smoking a cigarette, de allowed his machine to mount into the air and sail over the crowd, In-, lople sheered, and higher and h.gner Counted the machine with the move***nt<t n( a natural creature. to a Height of about 100.t, «nd then wiled round and round at a terrific sow''- n"> no l ),ane !"'"'/- steered and masoeuvwd in a remarkable wanner. The people could WJ ™ e i heavy drone of the monoplane. A tJHP Stream of petrol vapor, showing wo»te

■gainst the blue sky, however, disillusioned any romantic dreamers, and incidentally reminded them that the engine was not running at its best. Rising to a greater height still, Le Buret raced high above the stands, passed even outside the aerodrome, ana later, in a whimsical fashion, executed a figure 8 round one of the pylons. All this, however, was merely to edify th» erowd, for the gallant Frenchman, realising that all was not well with his engine—as previously hinted at—was, after a while, compelled reluctantly to descend.

The crowd gave him a warm reception, inspired by his daring exhibition. He shrugged his shoulders, then relinquished his' machine into the hands of his mechanics, and dolefuTfy followed them to the shede. ileanwhile, the two Englishmen had steadily risen higher and higher. An altitude of 300 ft was readied, then •4Uoft Still they continued their up ward light. Virs'l Slussiiigliani essayed « spurt, which evoked an instant "response from Carnforth. Then it was Carnfortn'a turn to soar ahead, only to find Mas'singliam shortly afterwards drawing level. • The excitement of the crowd had by this time reached fever-heat. There ■were many who dared not look up any longer, so fearful were they of witnessing a catastrophe. Suddenly a mighty cheer ascended from a hundred thousand throats. The code numbers 50 'iad been hoisted, signifying that the record had been broken. ,

Then it was seen that Jlassingbam was wavering. A bundled binoculars were pointed towards his monoplane. Yes, it was true. He seemed to remain stationary in mid-air for a few seconds, then his monoplane began to descend. The next instant a single shout arose from the tense, waiting, watching crowd. It rang through the still air, was caught up by the dense throng outside the aerodrome, and echoed and reechoed among the distant hills.. "Carnforth wins!" Yes, the race was his'. He went higher, higher. Massingham continued to descend. He reached the ground, aad was immediately surrounded by a crowd of friends and officials. They congratu- J lated him on his magnificent flight and I regretted that limy were not able to j acclaim him the victor. I

But Massingham answered never » word. His face was inscrutable. Did he feel his defeat too keenly? But who could think of Massingham at this moment! All thoughts had their focus in the solitary aviator remaining in the sky—the victorious Carnforth. He had mounted to a height' which demonstrated his utter and unquestioned superiority, and was now essaying his descent. If he accomplished it in safety, another glorious feat —as great as if not greater than any which had preceded it—would be added to his name.

Steadily he descended. There was a general move on the part of the spactators to the vicinity where it was estimated he would fall. Then a breatnless hush succeeded, the huge concourse waiting, spellbound, the concluding act of the drama. The machine descended until it hovered 100 ft over the grand stand; then, altogether without warning, tt altered its direction. It swerved dead east and fled away across the sky in the direction of Dobbin's Hill. Before the onlookers could voice their astonishment it had gone out of sight. Consternation reigned in the aerodrome. Officials ran helplessly hither and thither. The crowd looked blank.

Meanwhile the biplane had reached Dobbin's Hill, and now it landed gently on the flat surface of the simmit. The aviator sprang out, doffed leather motor cap and goggles, and was revealed as a winsome girl of eighteen, with firm-set lips and fearless eyes. The girl was Norman's sister Madge—a true Carnforth. Xorman—for the watcher on the hill was he—had darted to her side, was grasping her hands, and looking eagerly Into her face.

"Madge, I want to tell you what 1 think of you, but I can't find words in which to express myself. It was magnificent—heroic—sublime!" "Quick!" cried the girl. "Cot into the aeroplane. Ride into the aerodrome. Not an instant must be lost. I can see figures moving below. In a few moments the people will be here. They subterfuge. That must be prevented at all hazards, ljide, while there is yet time;" *^r i Carnforth suddenly turned to her. ~ "-l-oAiCt do it.--By- newrenf cuulu tne tmeanest skunk alive go and receive the reward which you by your magnifuient flying have won? I can't do it." She clasped her h?*ds.

"You must —for father's sake—for my sake—for the honor of our good name. Quick! My hat and long cloak. You have brought them?" The people in the aerodrome, almost at their wits' end, suid„n)y had their fears allayed by <ee\ig Carnforth co-re flying back over the gland stand. He dropped to the ground. Then pandemo.vum reigned. The young aviator wu acco-ded an indescribable reception. He was carried shoulder-high round end round the aerodrome to the -trains ol "See the Conquering Hero Conies." The eyes of Sir Geoffrey Carnforth were moist. There was a catch in his breath, a fluttering at his heart. Those who were near told afterwards that they had never seen hiin bold himself so proudly erect.

Madge, standing on the liiii, heard the mighty eheer which heralded her brother's arrival in the aerodrome. Then, with tingling cheeks and gleam- ' ing eyes, she hastened down the hill. Suddenly she stopped dead. A man was approaching her. It was Massing' ham. When he reached her side n'e looked into her eyes, ard, without preliminary of any kind, asked a simple direct question: "What made you dp it?" Madge looked at him aghast, terrified by the awful discovery that he knew, dismayed that her attempt should prove "abortive. She could not answer. '•I have guessed your secret," he said. !1 saw it was you from the first, though your wonderful resemblance to Norman appealed to deceive everybody. P did not think it was possible for a girl to exhibit such courage «s you have shown. I think yours is the bravest dssd I ever saw. And the remembrance of it will rwiiain with me as long as life lasts. And yet I ask, What made you do it?" "Promise me," she said, "that you will keep my secret inviolate—that you will not breathe what you know to a , soul. Promise toe this and I will tell

you all." , ~, "Whether you tell me or not, I will promise what you ask," he said. .'•Thank you," she said, in a fervent ; whtifSju '"'The story is soon told. 1 ■ was near roybiotter.'s room last niglit, I and overheard a terrible acpnc between . him and father. It was this. Norman's t nerve had failed—does not that happen . to the bravest at certain times? He I saiij fee could not fly to-day. - Father 5 was' angry—nay, he was more grieved i than angry. ; He accusal Norman ot ■ «wiardiee." " Finally he left him—and Sornian had tp face this plain issue: ■ either to fly, ot to forfeit all claim U ■i lather's regard tp be written down ■i Icoward. When father had gone I went s to Norman. He was utterly unnerved, i To attempt the flight was a physical t impossibility. There seemed only one c way to save him from shame and hui- miliation. I suggested that I should

fly ill Ms stead." ■'Yes. Go on"; for Madge had faltered in her narrative. . "At first Norman was amazed, in iWulflUß. But I reminded him how lit had confessed that I could manage his aeroplane almost'as well as he could. Then he said that people would lie certain to discover his identity. But J pointed out how alike we were, and that, in his leather suit, with cap and ■ Bowles, there would be very little Sanger of neople suspecting who I really waT AndVlast fc yielded-and-and von know the rest. It was the iliftHght 'of what was at stake which enabled ! me to accomplish the high flight. Somei how. f seemed to he inspired. I fear 1 ' could never do it again." 'II is not necessary for you to do it • win," lit said. "Once is sufficient. , "she looked away for a moment, bu isudilonlv her eyes sought his face, and 5 1, e said, in an impetuous voice: ■ I -You wanted to win the trial, did you . „ot?' Uon-'f try to deceive me, for 1 , .know how your hopes were set it. ! Am you very much disappointed? Can ■ von ever forgive me?" • J He looked down into t|ie sweet, eager • eves upturned to his. .' ••Yes. I wanted to win. Do you know w hv' "It. is because I love you, Madgs. 1 I have loved you ever since the day I - first saw von. Yet I feared I could b never hope to call you mme. But 1 e. thought if I came to you victorious it i! mi"ht help a little. That IS why I eVwtsatowifltfcecup"

"What difference would that have made?" she said, tears glistening in her eyes. "Didn't you know that I loved you? I have loved you all the time." And her hand found its way into his. With a cry of thanksgiving he folded her in his arms. To-day Norman Carnforth is second to none in the aviation world. His loss of nerve was only temporary. But if ever there should be danger of another mental lapse one thing would sustain him through it—namely, the uienior „i his sister's heroic act.—'fa-Hits,