Around the World in Ten Days | Page 2

your father's
newspaper, too."
"It will be in there sure pop, Paul."
"Then I'm going to get a copy right now."
The two youths, who but a few moments before had come out of the
broad doors of the Clark Polytechnic Institute along with a noisy throng

of other students, paused when they reached the newsboy in question,
and the taller of the pair bought a newspaper which he shoved into an
inner pocket of his raincoat.
"We'll look at this in the car on our way home; a fellow can't do any
reading in a storm like this," said the purchaser. "Let's hurry up a bit,
Bob; I'm so eager to see what it says about that Derby that I can hardly
wait to get to the station. Say, just think of it--a race around the world
by air! Won't that be great?"
"I'll say so, Paul old boy! They ought to smash all existing records. You
know that a man named Mears made the circuit in thirty-five days
about seven years ago, and he had to depend on slow steam trains and
steamships, aided by a naphtha-launch."
"That's true, Bob. Now that we have planes we ought to do a lot better.
But the big oceans are the trouble for aircraft. The Atlantic has been
crossed by Alcock and Brown in a Vimy-Vickers biplane, and also by
our NC-4 flying-boat under the command of Lieutenant Read, and by
the big English dirigible R-34; but the Pacific, with its greater breadth,
has seemed so impossible that it has never been attempted."
"Why should it seem impossible?"
"Because they can't carry sufficient gasoline to cross the Pacific."
"But how about the islands?"
"The majority are not level enough to permit a landing, and others are
too widely scattered. I have made quite a study of transoceanic flight
since Harry Hawker and his partner, Grieve, made their unsuccessful
attempt last spring to cross the Atlantic in a Sopwith machine, and for
my part I can't see how this proposed Derby around the world can all be
done by air, when no machine has ever yet been able to hop the
Pacific."
"Well, Paul, we'll soon be at the station out of this storm, and then we
can see what the paper says about it," was the philosophical conclusion

of his companion.
With that they hurried on down the street, bowing their heads to ward
off the sharp sleet as much as possible, while they gripped their
school-books under their arms. They were a splendid-looking pair of
young Americans, probably about eighteen years old, and the manner
in which they swung along through the disagreeable drizzle, paying
scant attention to it as they laughed and talked, showed them to be full
of that boundless energy and gaiety of spirits which only perfect health
and participation in athletics can bestow.
As Paul Ross and Robert Giddings approached the next corner, a young
man with umbrella held low in front of him hurried around it and ran
into a small Italian girl who was carrying a basket of fruit. She was
staggered by the collision; her basket was knocked from her arm, and
the oranges began to roll in every direction. The child broke into tears,
but the cause of her misfortune only paused long enough to say angrily,
"Confound you, you careless little beggar! Why don't you watch where
you are going?" and hurried on his way.
"Say, Paul, did you see the way that swarthy-faced chap used that little
girl?" cried Bob indignantly.
"I certainly did," was the no less indignant answer. "That lazy dog
ought to be horse-whipped. Let's help the child."
Both boys fell to work with a will, rescued the escaping oranges, and
tucked them back in their owner's basket. Then, with her grateful
thanks ringing in their ears, they hurried on once more.
After they had gone a few steps, Paul Ross observed:
"Bob, I've seen that fellow before. That was Pete Deveaux. He used to
be an Air Mail pilot on the same run as my brother John, but was
discharged for drunkenness. Since that he has blamed John, and has
written him several threatening letters, but is too cowardly to face him."
By this time they had reached the West 137th Street station of the

suburban railroad which runs between the metropolis and various shore
towns along the picturesque Hudson. They were just in time to catch a
train, and found a comfortable seat in a rear coach. Then Paul brought
forth the newspaper he had purchased. What they sought was found on
the very first page, prominently displayed under a black-faced heading.
"Read it aloud, Paul," suggested Bob, and his friend proceeded to do so.
The article was to the effect that the Aero Club of America, in